


Blinded: Part Two

by segadora



Series: Blinded [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, dragon - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Betrayal, Eventual Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hope vs. Despair, Lavellan/Solas Angst (Dragon Age), Lost Love, M/M, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, POV Solas (Dragon Age), Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Rebuilding, Saving the World, The Fade, The Veil (Dragon Age), Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:34:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23224105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segadora/pseuds/segadora
Summary: A new world has begun, and Nara Lavellan must come to terms with the world that has changed around her. Challenged with her own recovery and that of the world, she finds herself at a loss for what her role is now. As she grows stronger, she may discover that the truths she thought she knew may be tested. She and Solas both find themselves in uncharted territory.This acts as a sequel to Blinded: Part One. Part One covers the significant events that take place two years after Trespasser and Part Two begins just a few months after those events. It can work on its own if you read the chapter notes, but the state of the world has been changed and the characters are learning how to deal with that.
Relationships: Dagna/Sera (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Solas, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Lavellan & Solas
Series: Blinded [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669795
Comments: 47
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas remembers his time at the Inquisition, leaving brief hints for what he is dealing with in the waking world.

“We’ve searched the undercroft, the barracks, and the courtyard,” an agent of Leliana’s reported from above as Solas tried to bury himself in the book he was reading.

“There’s no sign of her anywhere,” the agent continued, exasperated.

“Just leave her be for a while,” Dorian shouted up at them. “She’ll be back in no time.”

Solas had realized he was dreaming some time ago, when he had found himself in the rotunda at Skyhold, studying the Veil and surrounded by scraps of his old drawings. He had much to do in the waking world; he could almost hear the soft whisper of voices in the room adjacent to the one he occupied, yet he willed himself back into his dream. He focused on the voices above trying to locate Nara. He would see her one more time, perhaps even talk to her, then he would return to his duties.

“She is welcome to have a moment to herself, but there are many things that need her attention.” Cassandra’s heavy armor clunked as she paced back and forth in the rookery. “She’s just been named Inquisitor. We need her now more than ever.”

Solas closed his book softly as he realized what was happening. He remembered how afraid he had been as they searched for Nara after the attack on Haven. He remembered the unbearable guilt that had come over him when Cullen had wondered if she had made it. Familiar pangs shot through him as his concerns in this dream echoed his waking worries.

He stood suddenly, willing the dream forward and wanting to dive deeper into his memory. He exited the rotunda and strode out onto the stairs leading into Skyhold. He searched the stables; Nara’s hart was still grazing peacefully. Her council probably would have assumed she had not left without her preferred mount, but he had noticed the halla missing from its pen. Quietly descending the staircase, he paused at the gate. Soft snow crunched beneath his bare feet as he shifted his weight. He had not known where she was headed; if her destination was far enough, he would need a mount, yet something had told him she had not ventured too far. He carried on, the skin on his feet prickling against the cold snow.

Once he had crossed the bridge and begun the rocky descent from the mountains, the wind calmed and small hooved prints appeared along the path he was following. Smirking to himself, he followed the prints for some time, until he approached a dense wooded area. The missing halla was tied loosely to the root of a tree and any other footprints that may have indicated where the halla’s rider had gone were missing.

Solas gently patted the halla’s nose as he approached, his gaze darting through the woods around him. He tread forward carefully—his senses sharpened as he searched for any sign of life. Leaves rustled in the wind and he could sense some small wildlife in the distance. He came to a small clearing and paused, listening.

“Inquisitor?” he asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

Before he could react, a blurred, dark shape dropped down from above, landing inches from him. He gasped and stumbled backward, sputtering as he sought to maintain his balance. Nara smiled and graciously stifled her laughter as she straightened before him. Solas’s heart clenched at the sight of her. He studied her mannerisms as he remembered her—the slight arch of her eyebrow, her tightly clenched jaw, the way she pursed her lips to conceal her smile. She moved away too quickly and he automatically turned to follow.

“You don’t have to call me that,” she strode toward her halla, opening the pack strapped to its back.

“It’s your title,” he stopped behind her. Nara snorted.

“It suits you,” he continued. She withdrew a blanket from her pack and he noticed she was sopping wet and shivering slightly.

“Did Cassandra send you?” she asked as she wrapped the blanket around her and sat beneath a nearby tree.

“She is searching for you,” he replied, sitting gingerly beside her. “As is Leliana… and Cullen. Josephine will probably throw some sort of search party if you don’t return soon, although she might have a different idea of what that may entail.”

Nara laughed softly and drew the blanket closer around her. Solas drank in the sound of her laughter.

“I came of my own accord, though,” he continued. “It’s hard to get much done with everyone bustling about.”

“My sincerest apologies,” she mumbled with a smirk, though her teeth were clenched.

Solas turned toward her and sent a spell of heat and air toward her, drying her skin and clothes. She shivered as the spell washed over her and her eyes widened as the loose linens she wore fluttered against her body. Her face flushed and she drew her blanket even closer around her.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Solas nodded. He had not seen her like this in so long: joking, open, and easygoing, despite all that she was facing and everything he knew she feared.

“What is troubling you?” he asked. She scratched at the ground beside her and hesitated before answering.

“I… I am afraid,” she answered, keeping her gaze low.

“It is natural to feel fear, given what is expected of you. The Inquisition asks much and anyone would—”

“No,” she cut him off. “It’s not that.”

She paused and bit her lip while trying to form her words. His longing for her was overwhelming, even at the time. He tried to focus on something else and found himself gazing at the feet of the halla.

“It’s…” she began, then stopped herself and rephrased.

“What if I… fail? What if I die? I’m the only one who can close rifts and I may be the only one who can stop Corypheus. If I stand against him and fall, what will they do? I’ve seen the future that comes from that path, Solas. It cannot happen.”

Solas was quiet for a long time. Her greatest concern was not for herself and for her own wellbeing, but for those she would be leaving behind, should she fail. Another sharp pang of guilt echoed around Solas’s chest as he remembered her selflessness. Her resolve and drive had been part of what convinced him to move forward with his plan, yet he was still astonished by her unrelenting spirit.

“This battle is not yours alone to fight. Corypheus has shown his cards, and you’ve the Inquisition’s force at your command. The path ahead of you will not be clear, but you will grow far stronger on the way. You will not have to face him on your own. The loyalty of his troops comes from fear, while our allegiance is to something more.”

“You may be right, but can loyalty win over a power we don’t understand? How can we win against a foe who claims to know far more of our world than ourselves?”

“Do not underestimate how the fire from the resistance you have shown has spread. Your leadership has sparked a chain of hope and you must know you will not be alone.”

She gazed up at him then, and he was speechless. He tried to memorize each angle of her face, but she was too quick for him again and turned away. She fussed with her blanket a moment before wrapping it around his shoulders, drawing him closer beside her as she made sure there was enough excess to cover his exposed feet. He put his arm around her shoulders and held her tightly, as if she were his only lifeline, as if he were slowly being torn away from her. He felt himself waking up as footsteps approached his room. He fought to stay with Nara in his dream, yet the awakening sounds persisted. She slowly faded from his vision until he awoke, sighing before opening his eyes to whatever it was awaiting his attention beyond his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! For the time being... I had not planned on needing such a long break from writing, but such is life, I suppose. I still don't know if I'll be able to update with any regularity, but please know I'm still writing and working and revising! Thank you to everyone who has bookmarked or read or left kudos in the meantime. You keep me going!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas awakens in a world unrecognizable. He meets with his council to discuss their next move and he considers his role in a world he did not expect.

Maps, books, and crumpled pieces of parchment littered the desk at which Solas had fallen asleep. He swept some of them to the floor as he arose, stretching. He hadn’t slept nearly as long as he had anticipated he would after tearing the Veil, but he was still regaining his strength and napped frequently. His own well-being had surprised him at first, but as he learned more about the state of the world, pieces started to fall into place.

As he suspected, the tearing of the Veil had a ripple effect across Thedas. Where the Veil was weak, hundreds of rifts formed which pulled spirits from the Fade and created demons in their wake. What he had not anticipated was the concentrated strength of the Veil in a few cities. Instead of the Veil disintegrating across the world, as he had intended, it had doubled back and with even more tenacity and settled in the cities where its concentration was strongest. The energy used to tear the Veil had rebounded and burned across the sky, decimating entire cities and destroying countless resources.

It was altogether both better and worse than he had expected.

While the partial survival of the Veil meant that Solas’s power had not overwhelmed him when it was torn, it also meant that the re-assimilation of elves and mages into the human world was more challenging than expected. A twinge of annoyance crossed his mind as he remembered the work that was to be done, but it was quickly gone. As a knock sounded at his door, he stood and turned his back to his desk, mainly to hide his yawn. Trying to shake the drowsiness from his mind, he clasped his hands behind his back and flexed his shoulders. As he heard the small room fill with footsteps, he turned again to face them and leaned over his desk. The members of his council shuffled as they regarded Solas and his room, unsure of where to start. Solas gazed at them impatiently, but when it seemed no one was willing to break the silence, he retreated from his desk and broke the silence.

“Well?” he asked, still mildly irritable after being woken. “I take it you have news.”

Varayla, his chief diplomat, spoke first after a furtive glance at the other two advisors.

“Sir,” she began in elven, shaking her long white hair behind her, “our efforts to make contact with the humans have either been lost or ignored.”

As she spoke, her nose turned up and she poorly suppressed a grimace.

“If it is the latter, establishing a foothold where we mean to may be seen as an act of aggression. We could, no doubt, quash any resistance they put up, but if your goal of peace still remains, we may have to be more delicate.”

To Solas’s surprise, Varayla managed to refrain from rolling her eyes; instead she held his gaze with the full intensity of her pale gray eyes. She had been one of the first of The People that he had awoken from Uthenera. While the two had never quite gotten to the point of being friendly toward each other, they had established a mutual respect for each other’s strengths. She was curt, arrogant, and cold, but she was the best diplomat he knew and he needed her talents to establish his presence in the new world.

Xenyah, who had been leaning against the wall, snorted, bringing Solas’s focus back to the present.

“If peace is still the goal, you might want to alert the rest of the world. We’ve had to keep a league of bandits and Orlesian soldiers at bay just this afternoon.”

She strutted up to Solas’s desk as she spoke, lifting a leg to half-sit upon his desk. As she moved forward, Solas strode sideways a few steps and noticeably away from her perch on his desk.

“They don’t seem to respond to our warnings against their trespassing and they bring more and more weaponry with them each time. If it’s peace you want, perhaps we will try laying down our arms next time? I’m sure that will go over well.”

Solas clenched his jaw against Xenyah’s mocking tone, biting back his response. Waking her was a risk, one he believed was worth it. She had served under him when he and Mythal had plotted the revolution against the Enuvaris. They had worked well together—her ruthlessness and apathy balanced well against his empathy and restraint. In the end, they had both sought justice and had fought side by side. The physical relationship they had was no more than a pleasurable side benefit—a release for them both—at least he had thought. Since she had awakened, however, it seemed she bore some bitterness toward Solas for his disregard of her and the intimacy they had once shared. He regretted this; he knew the time that had passed since he had seen her last had passed in the blink of an eye for her. It would be disorienting for anyone to fall asleep feeling one way and wake up expected to feel differently. Hoping she just needed time, he tried to give her as much space as possible and politely ignored her overtly sexual advances.

He cleared his throat and paced, keeping his gaze away from his desk.

“Abelas? You’ve been quiet. What are your thoughts?”

The room looked to him, awaiting his response. Abelas frowned and opened his mouth, then closed it again. He took his time gathering his thoughts, then shifted his weight before speaking.

“The Orlesians do seem to be gathering what forces of theirs remain. Given that the Exalted Plains are in Orlesian territory, perhaps it would be wise to make peaceful contact before establishing anything too permanent. Our forces would overcome theirs, without doubt, but since you remain focused on peace, I do not see what other choice we have.”

He did not meet Solas’s eye as he spoke, rather, he frowned at the maps on his desk, then averted his gaze.

“Meanwhile, our own people remain displaced, living in tents at best, waiting for us to make a plan,” Varayla snapped. Solas somewhat hastily covered the paperwork on his desk as she spoke, nudging Xenyah off his desk.

“How long do you think they will wait?” she continued. “We’ve awakened as many as we can, but they have loved ones still asleep. We need to give them some sort of timeline, at least.”

“At the very least,” Xenyah added grumpily. “I’d say we need to show them that they woke up in this world for a reason. They’re sick of twiddling their thumbs.”

Solas pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting a headache.

“I’m aware of their desire to settle, but the situation here is delicate. These people have suffered greatly; I stand by my decision to pursue peace. Otherwise, we run the risk of losing even more people on both sides.”

“Both sides?” Xenyah stormed. “You’re still concerned about their well-being after everything they did to elves in their time? They made their choices, what do you care if they live or die?”

“Clearly, you’ve had the privilege of never having the fate of two worlds in your hands,” he snapped back moodily.

Xenyah opened her mouth to respond, but Solas held up his hand to stop her.

“Of course I am still responsible for our people and their fate, but do not blame me for considering this world as well. I’ve lived among the best of these people and their destruction is both my responsibility and my fault. Until you know that kind of responsibility, you will not question me again.” His voice was dangerously close to cracking, but his point struck home and Xenyah backed away like a child that had been reprimanded. His council stilled and looked at him in shock. He fought back the shame settling in his stomach. No matter what he did, waves of shame were always at bay. He felt like he was coming apart.

“Sir,” Abelas began quietly, “I’ll send a group of scouts to an Orlesian outpost with a message of our peaceful intentions and desire to negotiate with Empress Celine. Perhaps we could send them with a small caravan of supplies, as a gift of good will? If we desire peace, we need to approach them peacefully.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Varayla responded. “We have only ever responded to their scouts with armed forces. A gesture of good will could go a long way.”

Xenyah rolled her eyes, but Solas nodded.

“Very well,” he said curtly, still recovering from his outburst. “Make it happen.”

Xenyah stormed out of the room and the others turned to follow.

“Abelas?” Solas called after him. “A moment.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas discusses a sensitive topic with Abelas, which keeps him distracted from his duty to help rebuild.

The elf stopped and let Xenyah and Varayla pass, who both gave him curious looks as they exited the room. He clenched his teeth and turned back toward Solas, who had slumped back into the chair behind the desk. Abelas hesitated, then perched on the edge of a chair opposite Solas.

“You’ve returned from Kirkwall,” Solas began, carefully keeping the emotion out of his voice. “Were you able to make contact?”

Abelas sighed and worked the muscle in his jaw. He lowered his hood and ran a hand over his head where black hair had begun to grow.

“I reached Kirkwall,” he replied delicately, “And I… I found your contact.”

Abelas looked to the floor.

“Well?” Solas prodded anxiously. “Did he have news? What did he say?”

Without looking up, Abelas retrieved an envelope from a pouch inside his cloak and placed it on the desk before Solas. Nara’s name was sprawled across the front in messy but familiar print. Solas stared at the envelope, then at Abelas, whose gaze had not changed. With a trembling hand he lifted the envelope from the desk, carefully tearing it open. His eyes darted over the script with increasing desperation before he neatly folded the parchment back up and placing it back in the envelope. His hands shook terribly now. He clasped them on the desk in front of him to try to conceal it. He cleared the growing constriction from his throat.

“I see,” he said at last. “And the city?”

“Abandoned,” Abelas replied quietly. “Most of it is in ruin, although there are some areas that are still intact. It is difficult to tell whether the rifts or the tearing of the Veil were more devastating, but the city seems to have encountered the worst of both. Anyone who survived is long gone, I suspect.”

Solas’s knuckles turned white as he squeezed his folded hands together. He opened his mouth, but closed it again. He searched the ceiling as he fought to keep his composure. Abelas leaned forward, his volume dropping even further.

“I believe… she was there. There are traces of your magic as well as an unfamiliar magic outside the city.”

Solas’s gaze snapped back to Abelas, who met his eye.

“I should warn you, though, the battle that took place there seemed to be fierce. There was a great deal of blood and… remains.”

“Remains?” Solas choked out through clenched teeth.

“Not hers. Mostly demons or the people of the village. Her body was nowhere to be found.”

Solas closed his eyes and exhaled shakily. Images of Nara bloodied, battered, and broken swam before him. Had she been alone? Where had she escaped to? Nausea bubbled in his stomach and he swallowed the bile in his throat.

“Are there any signs of where she might have gone?”

Abelas frowned and looked at his lap.

“Nothing I could detect. I visited a village not far from the city before I departed, however. They told me of a woman living in the woods who sometimes stops by for supplies. A mage, they believe. She showed up shortly after the Veil was torn and keeps mostly to herself. They are suspicious of her. They say she purchases a great deal of magebane.”

“Magebane? That’s… curious.”

Abelas nodded.

“I will follow up when there is time.”

“I’ll join you.” Solas leaned forward, resting on his elbow and fingering the edge of the envelope.

“I’d like to see what remains of Kirkwall for myself and see this through. Get some rest and do what you must, then assemble a small team to accompany us.”

Abelas nodded solemnly and stood, turning from Solas and making his way toward the door. Solas rested his forehead on his hands, mind swimming. Abelas paused before reaching the door.

“Sir,” he said, turning back toward Solas, “If this lead goes nowhere, if it is another dead end, will you give up this search? The People need a leader, now more than ever. I understand your dilemma better than most, believe me, but it is time to move forward with the possibility that she may be gone.”

His words, though they were gently delivered, cut through Solas. He opened his mouth to argue, but could not find his voice. What could he say? He clenched his eyes shut. He was tired, so very tired, and hopelessness ebbed its way into his mind. Abelas had sent spies into every city in search of her. Solas had visited anyone he could think of in dreams, trying to garner her whereabouts. They had traveled to countless locations, following whispers that led nowhere. It was simply as if she was erased from the face of the earth, with only her memory left behind. Perhaps she simply did not want to be found, or perhaps she had burned along with the rest of the world. A crushing weight settled in his stomach, pulling him down, down, down. He thought the weight might pull him through the floor, into the dirt beneath him and whatever nothingness lay beyond that. If she was gone, so was he. What remained of him felt like an empty shell of broken pieces.

He opened eyes and was surprised to find he was still at his desk with Abelas standing before him, awaiting his answer.

“Leave me.”

Abelas’s jaw clenched again, but he straightened and left the room. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Solas alone with his misery.

He knew Abelas was right. He was distracted and had been neglecting the People as they struggled to transition into a new world. Yet, abandoning his search felt like abandoning her, something he could not bring himself to do.

 _Not again,_ he reminded himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always greatly inspired by music when I write! The past few chapters have made me think of these songs, in particular.   
> "Signs Of Light" by The Head And The Heart  
> Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/track/13KwrXEgb4lLzd0kP8Jiqf?si=Gp9Npd48TWOWUbEo4kUjTw  
> YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rPqwpXBY62o
> 
> "Graveyard Near The House" by Airborne Toxic Event  
> Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/track/5ZyVc23cCY8F7Vw4AEk20P?si=QFUMfsCLR5-v_5-_YoTQZQ  
> YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FBMnE3sWaFA


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nara's fate is revealed, but what will become of her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Am An Island by B H H Burns  
> https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2007030/i-am-an-island/
> 
> I am an island.  
> I am a little spit of land,  
> Swept away by unsettled waters  
> and shifting sands;  
> Forced alone to  
> make my home  
> In an insubstantial sea.
> 
> Yet on my island  
> I am free; free to preserve  
> my eccentricities  
> in a nature reserve  
> made from nurturing love of  
> what I choose to be.
> 
> I am an island.  
> Borne away on wistful waves, I  
> travel onward,  
> Seeking a place where  
> there are others who are free;  
> And when I find them,  
> There I’ll stay, and  
> thereafter spend my days  
> Not as an island…  
> But as me.

For a long time, there was nothing.

There were no feelings, emotions, or conflictions. No tasks, errands, or requests to tend to. She had no body, nor any recollection of having had a body. She was just a stream of consciousness, a presence. She drunk in the nothingness—there was nothing for her to do, nowhere to be. There was nowhere at all. She felt her mind succumbing and there was nothing stopping her from letting herself fade...

For a long time, she did. No thoughts crossed her mind, no sensations or feelings piqued her interest. She was nothing, surrounded by nothing. It was not oppressive or welcoming, it was just the absence of anything at all, and it was a relief, though she did not remember what she was relieved of.

And yet, she was still present. A substance amongst the nothingness. An island in the middle of a vast ocean. It was eternal and unchanging, and she was not. Time did not seem to pass, if it even still existed. It was probably sheer boredom that sent her searching. She wasn’t even sure what she was searching for, just _something._

A prickling sensation caught her interest. It was small and subtle, but after an eternity of no sensation, it felt like being drenched in cold water. She remembered what it was to feel. She remembered that she once had a body.

Her search had a direction now and her consciousness wandered, trying to remember what it felt like to have a body.

It started small—a tingling, a stiffness weighing on her, an ache. It was uncomfortable and she almost wished for the nothingness to return. But no, even discomfort was somewhat of a reprieve from the nothingness. Slowly, painstakingly, she recovered bits of herself. She felt her parched lips and remembered how it felt to thirst. The stiffness within her reminded her of what it felt like to stretch. Restlessness returned to her and she longed for how it felt to run.

Wild, earth-shattering, blinding pain raked across her chest and throughout her body, bringing her every sensation back to the surface of her mind, and she remembered what it was to feel nothing.

After that, there was only the pain. Sometimes she would feel other things, but they hardly pulled her notice away from how much everything hurt. She could not move, could not think, could only feel as her body painstakingly stitched itself back together. Now that she had a body, there were times when she felt like she was being pulled away from it, as if she was being pulled toward something else. She wondered if it would bring her relief, if she succumbed to it, but remembered the nothingness and fought her way back into her body. At least pain was something she could feel.

Perhaps she imagined it, or maybe she just disassociated from it, but it seemed there were times the pain was better, or at least lesser. In these times, she could pick up on other sensations. Her hearing returned first. The slight shuffling of feet beside her. The soft click of a door closing. But the pain would always return, and it pressed anything else from her perception.

Once, when the pain subsided enough, she realized she could taste, yet this also was not a welcome improvement. A sour, bitter taste filled her mouth, but the rest of her senses had not caught up, so her salivary glands were of no help in relieving the foulness assaulting her tongue. She could not even crinkle her nose at the taste, she could only lie there and let it happen to her.

 _Oh,_ she realized with a start. _I’m lying down._

She ran with the realization that she could feel anything besides pain and tried to recognize what else she could feel.

_Stiffness beneath me. I’m on a hard surface. A… table?_

Pride swelled within her as if she had accomplished a great discovery.

 _What else?_ She thought. She felt herself panicking slightly, as if she were running out of time before the pain came back. The panic brought a familiar, oppressive nothingness with it, which she fought until it overcame her. It felt like a cloth being placed over her eyes. Her mind stilled and her consciousness slipped once more.

***

“She’s doing better,” an unfamiliar voice whispered. “Her eyes move beneath her eyelids now and her breathing has normalized.”

“Do you think she’ll wake up?” another voice asked.

“She might, if she wasn’t so heavily medicated. It’s probably best that she doesn’t. Her wounds have healed but there’s still internal damage.”

“How long will that take to heal?” This voice sounded like a child.

“It depends,” the first voice whispered. A woman. “She has great strength, but she’s lost some of her fight. It might be better if she wasn’t being kept here—I’m sure more practiced hands could heal her much more quickly. That might be a problem, though, considering who she is.”

There was a pause. Nara tried to make sense of what she had heard. An unpleasant coolness trickled across her face. A cold compress was being pressed to her head, she realized. She thought she might lift a hand to wipe it away, but her arms seemed terribly heavy.

Her _arms_ …

“Well it hardly seems fair,” the child finally responded.

Nara tried to open her senses enough to feel her limbs. The stiff, unfamiliar feeling of her prosthetic arm returned to her and, all at once, everything came rushing back.

“After what he put her through, you’d think he would want to give her some peace.”

Solas.

The Veil.

The Inquisition.

And… her. What had happened to her? She scrambled to piece things together. She remembered the back of a carriage—there had been a crash. She was trying to reach Varric when…

_Oh._

Oh, _shit._

A soft moan escaped from her lips as she stirred and the whispering voices hushed. She needed to wake up. She needed to know what happened. The Veil had undoubtedly been torn, she knew it. Grief and panic overwhelmed her. She fought to sit up, to move, to do anything. Her hand twitched and the sound of a chain being pulled met her ears.

“She’s waking up.”

She was in shackles? Why? Was she a prisoner here? Who were these people?

“Hand me that needle.”

No.

They meant to sedate her, to keep her under, but she _knew_ now. She remembered everything. She didn’t want to be unconscious anymore. Perhaps she could do something, help in some way. What state was the world in now? How many people had survived? How many of her friends had survived? Each of her thoughts were arrows, shooting through her mind in a panic. The needle pricked her arm and she felt herself slipping again but fought against it. She wanted to gnaw and kick and punch her way back to the waking world, but all she managed was another soft moan, perhaps another twitch of her fingers before blackness and nothingness overcame her once more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nara awakens...

Her eyes snapped open. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since her last moment of semi-consciousness, but it seemed to be the middle of the night, judging by the light in the room. Her eyes darted around frantically, trying to take in as much information as she could. There was a window above the table she laid upon and linen curtains wafted in a warm breeze. There was only one door. In the corner, a boy was perched on a chair, presumably to guard her. His head rested against the wall behind him. He had fallen asleep.

It was a small room. She searched for anything else that might be of use to her. She could check the wardrobe; perhaps she would find some herbs or healing potions. Depending on who was in the house, she might be able to overpower them and search. There might be some weapons hidden somewhere, or rations she could grab quickly.

Her breath stilled and she tried to calm herself.

 _You don’t even know these people,_ she thought. _They’ve kept you alive and healed you. They might not be people you need to run from._

Still, the shackles on her wrists didn’t do much to persuade her. Thankfully, she still had her prosthetic arm, she realized as the markings glowed in the low light. Then, she realized there was a glow coming from her right hand as well. Confused, she tried to shift slightly so she could better regard her body, but as she flexed her abdominal muscles, stabbing, searing pain shot through her and left her breathless. 

An involuntary gasp escaped her as she looked down at her chest. Dark scar tissue had covered a pair of wounds, one on the right side of her chest and another just above her stomach. Each was just above an inch in diameter and, if she remembered correctly, she likely had a matching pair on her back. She tried to lift her hands to the wounds, but found her muscles would not comply. All she managed was another twitch of her wrists, causing the chains to jostle slightly.

The boy in the corner sucked in a breath, then sighed and went back to dozing. Her breath shuddering, she looked for other signs of trauma. She was noticeably thinner than she ever had been—any fat content she had was gone and her muscles had begun to atrophy. She wore light linens, but her bones poked out in sharp angles and the linens hung loose at her sides. Various other scars stood out against her dark skin, both new and old. She could not remember which ones had been there already and which ones were new.

Hoping she didn’t have any other hidden injuries, she adjusted her focus back on attempting to move. She started with her hands, since she had been able to move them slightly before. She managed another twitch before sweat beaded on her forehead. Frustrated, she rolled her eyes and adjusted her focus to the muscles in her face. These seemed more responsive to her efforts. She was able to clench her jaw and furrow her brow with relative ease. She even managed to open and close her mouth before she noticed the room beginning to lighten and shuffling sounds of someone moving in the next room.

The boy awoke with a start and she snapped her eyes closed, attempting to keep her face blank and her body still. Now that she was awake, she wanted to stay that way, although she wasn’t quite ready to attempt an escape or make any protest about her status. The boy rushed over to her and checked her over, before sighing with relief and returning to his post.

So, she was to wait like this: alive, but severely weakened; conscious, but unable to move. When the boy’s breathing became slow and steady she resumed her work on flexing her muscles. She felt like she was actually beginning to accomplish something when the woman entered the room. The boy jumped up and she stilled, easing her breathing again to a normal pace.

“How’s our patient?” the woman asked, her tone slightly accusatory.

“Fine,” the boy replied defensively. “She stirred a couple times in the night, but she hasn’t woken up.”

The woman crossed the room to her, paused, then wiped the sweat from Nara’s brow.

 _Shit,_ she thought.

“She feels feverish and she’s drenched in sweat.” The woman paced away from her and opened the cabinet door, shuffling through its contents.

“Wash the knife, will you?” she called.

Nara tensed. The woman continued collecting supplies, then retreated from the room. The sounds of cooking echoed from the next room and the smell of herbs reached Nara. Steeling herself for what was likely about to happen, Nara clenched her teeth.

Eventually, the two returned and Nara fought to keep herself still. The boy turned her arm over with one hand, running his thumb over a series of fresh scars on her wrist. Carefully, he picked up the knife. Nara wanted to scream and thrash, but she somehow managed to keep her body still and her mind quiet as the boy made an incision. Nara anticipated the feeling of blood trickling down her arm, yet was surprised when all she could feel was warmth spreading through her. As the feeling spread up her arm and into her shoulder, Nara cracked her eyes open.

The woman stood over her, a look of concentration on her face and her focus did not waver from Nara’s arm which, incidentally, was not dripping blood. Instead, the woman was using the incision to direct a murky, brown liquid into Nara’s blood stream. Carefully closing her eyes, she exhaled.

The woman was a blood mage.

This was how they kept her alive, she realized. She peeked down again at the scars on her arm. It was impossible to tell how many times the procedure had been performed, but she guessed this was how they got nutrients into her body while she was unconscious. Nara sniffed the air, trying to discern what else was in the concoction entering her bloodstream. Unsurprisingly, there was the overwhelming smell of elfroot, presumably to continue healing her wounds. There was the savory smell of some sort of broth and… something else. Her arm began to tingle and burn as a new substance flowed through her.

“Ma,” the boy whispered.

“I know, I see it. We don’t have much choice.”

Nara chanced one last look down at her arm and bit back a scream. The deep red liquid turned black as it combined with her blood. Its trace up her arm and through her veins was visible through her skin. The burning sensation got worse and worse until she felt like she was on fire. Sweat dripped down her forehead again and she thought it would be worth revealing she had awakened if she could just make this stop. Yet, she managed to stay still and eventually it was over. The boy applied a paste to the cut on her wrist and she felt her skin knitting itself back together.

“I’m sure that didn’t help her fever much,” the boy commented as he dabbed her forehead with a cold, wet piece of cloth. Nara thanked him silently as it instantly relieved some of the burning that was still spreading through her.

“I added extract of elderflower to help with her temperature. You know there isn’t anything we can do about the magebane…” the woman trailed off.

Magebane.

 _What did that mean?_ Nara wondered. Perhaps they were trying to limit the power she had over rifts, thanks to her prosthetic arm? Or was it something else, something that had awakened in her due to some cosmic change in the universe?

All she knew was that she needed answers. She wondered how to best reveal to them that she was awake so that she could question them before they tried to restrain her. She did not want to sleep any more. She was wide awake now and she desperately wished to stay that way.

“We will need to collect more elfroot today, our stocks are low,” the woman said to her son as she peered into the cabinet. “Could you add lyrium dust to our list of supplies? If she’s keeping to her recent schedule, Mythal will likely return soon.”

Nara’s stomach dropped.

Mythal?

Was that to mean that the ancient elvhen, god-like being—member of the Enuvaris and the god to which Nara had dedicated her vallaslin, that is, until Solas had removed it—now walked the earth once more and was headed to the very room where Nara lay, pretending to sleep?

_Oh, no. No no no._

Her mind raced. She had to get out of here. Solas had called Mythal the best of the Enuvaris, but that was not a chance that Nara was willing to take. Finally understanding the reason for the chains at her wrists and the magebane in her bloodstream, she made up her mind.

As soon as she could, she was going to find a way to escape this prison. All she needed to do was build up the strength to be able to walk again.

 _Piece of cake,_ she thought, rolling her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the short chapters and sporadic posting schedule lately. I've been going a bit mad due to isolation and the lack of a schedule. I'm still writing though! Your kudos and comments mean the WORLD to me, especially right now. Thank you!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When strategizing about how to make her escape, Nara is met with some unexpected complications.

The first chance she got came later that morning, when the woman and her son went to the garden to gather the elfroot they needed. She had managed to roll to her side and slowly sat up, trying to look around for something within reach to pick the lock of the shackles at her wrists, when she was struck by an overwhelming wave of nausea. She quickly laid back down, trying to swallow the bile in her throat. She tried a few more times, but each time she had to retreat back to the table, steadying her shuddering breath.

When the boy and his mother returned, she was drenched in sweat once more.

The next opportunity presented itself after they had sponged her off and applied a cooling salve to her forehead. Apparently, the boy, whose name turned out to be Quinn, was a mage as well and his mother was training him. After she had called him outside, Nara heard soft, crackling magic outside and figured it was safe to make her next attempt. Once she sat up, the room started to spin and threatened her with nausea again, but she gripped the edges of the table, clenched her eyes shut, and tried to breathe her way through it, praying she could stay upright. Eventually, the wave did pass and she opened her eyes to look around the room again.

She spotted the knife they had used earlier to make the incision on her wrist lying among a few supplies at the end of the table. Steeling herself, she stretched her leg out to try to see if she could reach the knife with her foot, but maneuvering her leg like that proved to be more exhausting than anything else. She shifted to the side, pulling her legs underneath her. Her muscles ached and her very bones seemed to groan in protest to all the movement, but she half-crawled, half-dragged herself to the end of the table and her fingers closed around the handle of the blade. She rested a moment, catching her breath, then worked her way back to her original spot on the table. Her shackles clunked back to the table and she froze, listening for any signs that they had heard her. When the sounds of spellcasting resumed outside, she wiped her forehead on the sleeve of her shirt and smoothed her clothes in case they came back. Then, she began her work on the lock. It was tricky, as she had not regained all of her motor control in her fingers. She dropped the knife a few times, once nicking herself on the back of her hand. She sucked at the blood beading on her wrist and her throat stung.

Quinn and his mother then opened the door and Nara hastily stowed the knife under the small of her back and tried to angle her hand so that the cut wouldn’t show. Thankfully, they did not rush to check on her. As they entered, Quinn boasted of a spell he had been able to master and his mother gently poked fun at him for a time he had lost his balance. Nara’s heart clenched at the comradery between the two. The simplicity of a relationship between a mother and her son. Her mind wandered back to her clan, the only family she had, who had met their fate long ago. She thought of the friends she had made through the Inquisition, whose fate she was still not sure of. She missed them all dearly.

The two began preparing dinner and the smell of cooking meat and vegetables made Nara’s stomach growl. How long had it been since she had eaten? Silently resolving to swipe some left-over food when she made her escape, she quieted her mind and allowed herself to doze.

When she woke, she realized with a start that it was the middle of the night. A quick glance around told her it was Quinn’s mother sleeping in the chair in the corner. She wondered if they had meant to stay awake to watch over her or if they simply assumed that if Nara awoke, they would wake up. Either way, she was thankful at the opportunity it gave her.

Recovering the blade from its hiding place, she got to work again at the shackles. Time pressed on and there were a few times when she had made a particularly loud noise with the chains or when she had dropped the knife again that she was sure the woman would wake, but, thankfully, she stayed asleep and Nara continued her work.

Finally, with a _clunk_ , the latch on the shackles gave and she caught the chains before they clamored to the table. Gently setting them aside, she worked to sit up again, swinging her legs over the side of the table. The nausea wasn’t as bad as it had been before, but it was still enough to force her to close her eyes and breathe. As she tried to shimmy herself closer to the edge of the table, her abdominal muscles shuddered and sent a sharp pain up her spine. Grinding her teeth to keep from crying out, she adjusted per position and flipped herself over, so she was lying on her stomach. Clinging onto the opposite end of the table, she slowly lowered herself off the edge until her toes touched the cool stone floor. She moved carefully, allowing her legs to bear more and more of her weight slowly until she was standing on her own. Her whole body trembled at the exertion and she was drenched in sweat, but she could stand.

With the same care, she grasped the table and pulled herself around the room toward the door, stopping at the cabinet. She found a piece of linen and gathered some materials in a makeshift sack she had fashioned, pausing every now and then to breathe. Grabbing elfroot extract, lyrium, and some bandages, she crept along the wall silently, stepping out through the door into the kitchen.

“Well,” a clear voice resounded through the room, “I had wondered when you would decide to join us.”

A figure leaned forward at the kitchen table and pulled a candle closer to herself, striking a match. Nara gasped, blinking in the sudden light, the force of which caused her to stumble back into the wall behind her and drop the bundle she had gathered, which crashed against the floor. She tried to speak but her voice just rasped soundlessly in her throat.

Morrigan kicked the chair across from her out from the table and pointed to it.

“Sit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all the best! Thank you for commenting and sharing the love!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nara finally gets some answers about the state of the world, though this brings up even more questions and leaves her uneasy.

Numbly, Nara followed Morrigan’s order and slowly made her way to the chair. Quinn’s mother came racing out of the room with a start, swearing under her breath when she saw Nara sitting at the table.

“Blair,” Morrigan said, addressing the woman, “grab our friend here some tea, would you? I imagine she’s feeling rather parched. Perhaps some food as well?”

She looked to Nara for confirmation. Her mind was racing with questions, but she could hardly argue against the promise of food and something to quench her thirst. She nodded. Blair raced around the kitchen gathering bits of food and setting some water to boil over a fire. Nara tried to clear her throat, which sent a shuddering cough through her. Morrigan put up a hand to still her.

“Now, I have on good authority that you’ll have some questions, but we won’t be able to accomplish anything until you manage to recover your voice. Wait for your tea, eat your food; when you’re ready, I’ll answer whatever questions you may have.”

Unable to argue, Nara simply nodded again. Morrigan glanced back at Blair and Nara studied her. She looked very much the same, yet everything about her seemed different. All of her mannerisms, right down to her posture, seemed different, somehow. She looked back toward Nara, who realized with a start that her eyes had changed. The yellow eyes she had known had turned to a soft lilac color. They watched Nara curiously as she took in the sight.

Blair set a cup of tea down in front of both of them and backed away, setting herself up in the corner of the room: out of sight enough to not draw attention, but still present in case she was needed. With a trembling hand, Nara pulled her tea closer and sipped. It was too hot, but the relief it provided to her throat was immediate. She blew at the steam rolling off the cup and sipped more. Morrigan continued watching her through all this. Blair watched the floor.

After downing most of her tea, clearing her throat painfully a few times, and humming to herself slightly, Nara finally managed to make some sound come out of her. Meanwhile, Morrigan watched her with an amused expression, as if she were a child learning how to speak for the first time. Nara thought about how to phrase her questions while using the least amount of words possible.

“Morrigan?” she choked out. It was the most pressing question at the moment. She needed to know who she was dealing with.

“Morrigan?” the woman across from her repeated blankly, turning her eyes up as if she were trying to remember something.

“Oh! Yes, I believe she is in here somewhere. I will let you speak with her in a moment. I am Mythal.”

Mythal. That explained things, then. Trying not to think about what this meant for Morrigan, at least not yet, she whispered another question.

“Then, Flemeth?”

Mythal sighed and thumbed the handle of the mug in front of her.

“That form has been… corrupted through the years of experience through human and mortal perception. It is currently beyond my reach, so I sought out a new form.”

Nara got the feeling that Mythal was choosing her words carefully in order to keep certain truths from her: a technique that she was used to from her time spent with Solas. Though, she supposed, this was probably where he learned that technique.

“Are you not mortal?” she asked. Mythal gave an appreciate smirk at Nara’s ability to pick up on that detail.

“I likely am not, though, to be honest, I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps if this form perishes, I will be able to transfer the collective consciousness of the Well to a new form.”

Mythal looked thoughtfully at Nara, who wore a horrified expression.

“But, of course, you are concerned for your friend.”

At this, she closed her eyes and her body relaxed for a moment before she straightened up again, shaking her head and looking at Nara with bright, yellow eyes.

“Nara,” she greeted as she ran her fingers through her hair.

“Morrigan?” Nara choked out once more. “What happened to you?”

Her voice was barely a whisper. The two women had never been particularly close—they had disagreed on more than one occasion—but Nara’s heart went out to the woman sitting across from her now. She had done a great deal to help the Inquisition defeat Corypheus and certainly didn’t deserve this fate.

“I knew what I was getting myself into when I drank of the Well,” she replied quietly, staring at her hands in her lap. “I knowingly dedicated my life to the service of Mythal. This is what she requires.”

“How?” she asked, biting her lip. She kept her question short, not just because her voice was growing hoarser again since she finished her tea, but because she could feel tears welling up in her eyes.

“Well, as we understand it, Mythal became something of a wisp when she died, lingering near her body after her murderers had left the temple. Solas found her and cared for her, but she could not survive a war as a wisp. He created the Well to store her consciousness until it was safe, but did not realize that the Well could hold more than one consciousness. More were added, after her death and after her people were persecuted. In offering myself to the Well, I offered my living body as a host and my consciousness became one of the collective.

“I try to remind myself; it was a small price to pay to defeat Corypheus. We could not have done so without the Well’s knowledge.”

She picked up the tea and sniffed at it.

No wonder Solas had so adamantly refused to offer himself to the Well. He had created it. She felt herself trying to justify why he might have kept that information secret at the time and stopped herself. He knew what would have happened to Morrigan and he did nothing to stop her besides uttering a half-hearted warning. It could have been Nara who offered herself to the Well. It almost was. A bitter taste filled her mouth.

“The Veil?” she asked tentatively. Since she had woken, she had assumed that the Veil had been torn and the world destroyed. With this question, whatever hope she had left flickered within her. Morrigan looked at her sadly and her hope came crashing down around her.

“It wasn’t torn, at least not the way he had intended,” she replied. “Our runes were successful and the Veil remains over the locations you visited. Elsewhere, however, it was destroyed, and it burned the sky and the earth in the process. Whatever was untouched was ravaged by demons or bandits. The world outside a city or an organization is a dangerous place.”

“And… the Inquisition?”

Morrigan looked at her intently and her eyes flickered briefly before she answered.

“The members you visited before the Veil was torn remain in their respective cities, as far as I’m aware. Cullen seems to bounce back and forth between Skyhold and Denerim. Dorian employed a blood mage he knew of in Tevinter to somewhat replicate your enchantments, though I believe the Veil behaves differently there. Regardless, he is secured in Minrathous, as is Josephine in Antiva City, though I’m not sure how she managed to protect that city.”

Morrigan trailed off, her eyes slightly unfocused.

“What of the rest of them? What about Bull and…” she swallowed, “Varric?”

Morrigan’s body slumped again and Mythal took her place, looking to Nara with sympathetic lilac eyes.

“My apologies for interrupting,” she said solemnly. Nara realized her accent was different from Morrigan’s. “You wear your emotions quite differently from what I’m used to. It can be quite uncomfortable when you experience them secondhand.”

Nara looked at her with a bewildered expression, but Mythal waved her off.

“You’ll learn in time. As for the rest of your companions, I can only guess about their location at this time. You have my deepest regret.”

Nara stared speculatively at her mug, thoughts racing. Could Varric have made it out of Kirkwall and away from the army of demons that surely ravaged the city? It was possible… He had a rune, so he likely could have survived the Veil tearing. The rest of Kirkwall, though… She shuddered as she remembered the people gaping at the sky as she and the mass of demons at her back had approached. What had become of the city? Bull, on the other hand… She had promised that she would track him down and make sure he was safe. Emotion built up in her throat but she quenched it, which resulted in her coughing violently. Blair rushed to refill her mug with tea and brought a loaf of bread, which she began slicing.

The tea really did wonders to soothe her throat, and soon Nara’s coughing episode had subsided. Tentatively, she pulled a slice of bread toward her and tore off a small piece, popping it into her mouth. Mythal seemed to be trustworthy enough, but it was clear there were pieces she knew that she was not sharing. Thinking this over, she chewed and swallowed the bread, which scraped against her throat terribly on the way down. Gasping, she took another sip of tea.

“What happened to me?” she asked quietly.

Mythal chuckled.

“I wondered when you would ask. Simply put, you died. I can only guess at what happened in Kirkwall when the Veil tore, but when you were found there were only traces of life clinging to you. Your body was severely damaged, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Raising a hand to her chest where the larger of the two deep scars were, she cleared her throat.

“Then how am I here? How did I survive?”

Mythal leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, as if the conversation had suddenly garnered her interest.

“What do you remember?” her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. Nara regarded her warily, unsure of how much to reveal. Something gave her the feeling Mythal knew quite a bit about what had happened and was toying with her. Still, Nara had no better source to find out what happened, and she needed to know what she was up against. Her throat was feeling better, having used it a bit. She finished her tea and took a breath.

“I was on my way to Kirkwall when the Veil was torn. Some kind of… rift opened? It could have just been the Veil tearing, I suppose. I was surrounded by demons—there seemed to be hundreds of them. Eventually, I blacked out.”

Mythal nodded and sat back in her chair, contemplating.

“It would seem my hunch was correct, then. A peculiar boy by the name of Cole brought you to Blair, who used what she had to close your wounds and heal your body.”

“Cole? He was here?”

“He disappeared not long after bringing you here,” Blair answered quietly.

Mythal frowned and tilted her head at Nara, though her eyes were still sharp and speculating. Nara picked at the bread in front of her, dunking it in the tea Blair had once again replenished to soften it.

“How did you describe her state, Blair?” Mythal asked. Blair remained standing next to the table and clasped her hands in front of her. She kept her gaze lowered.

“It…” she hesitated, glancing nervously at Mythal. “It like your body was living, but your spirit was lost. Cole said he could not sense you, but your heart was beating. We did not know what to make of it, other than to keep your body functioning.”

“So,” Mythal addressed Nara again, shifting in her chair, “what held onto your spirit when your body had perished, I wonder? What made you return to us now?”

Nara met her intense gaze and frowned. It felt like Mythal was intentionally testing her, trying to get a sense for her intelligence or her wit. It felt like the Game, and Nara was so tired of playing. In fact, all of this movement and conversation was taking its toll on her already. She calculated her next words, taking another bite of bread as Mythal watched. She smiled.

“From what I remember, boredom.”

Mythal laughed politely, an air of smugness about her.

“Perhaps you’re right. The mind is nothing if not active, and I imagine all that time of inactivity weighed on you heavily.”

Blair, who had been watching Mythal closely, frowned and retreated to her corner.

“All that time? How long has it been exactly?”

Mythal sighed.

“The year is still 9:44 Dragon. Today marks the 26th day of the month of the 7th month of the year, which I believe you call Solace. It has been—”

“Four months,” Nara breathed, staring at the table. She looked up at Mythal, who hastily put on a sympathetic face.

“Four months?!” she tried to shout, her voice straining pathetically, as if that would make it less true. It had felt like days; weeks, at most. But months? Her head spun trying to take it all in.

“More tea?” Mythal asked, rising herself to replenish Nara’s cup.

She rested her head on the table, trying to use the coolness of the wood to steady herself. Her muscles ached and trembled from the exertion, which suddenly made sense, after four months of no use. She counted her breaths, exhaling slowly. Mythal set the mug down in front of her.

“I think I need to rest,” Nara said, sluggishly lifting her head from the table.

“You will, child. Drink,” Mythal replied, pushing the mug closer to Nara.

Blair stood abruptly, then crossed the room to the stairs, disappearing without a word. Nara watched her while dunking another piece of bread into her tea. She felt ravenous, suddenly. She chewed with more urgency, then bit off another piece.

“I’m sure you’re quite exhausted. Before you retire, though, I have a few questions myself.”

Mythal’s eyes shimmered. Dim light was creeping in from the windows as dawn approached. Nara, still hungrily devouring the bread in front of her, shrugged.

“You meant to leave here, before we met. Where did you intend to go?”

She phrased her question innocently enough and looked at Nara with wide eyes, as if she were simply genuinely curious about Nara’s intentions. Part of Nara’s mind corrected the phrasing.

 _I meant to_ escape, _before you caught me,_ she thought. The back of her head tingled and Mythal’s lips twitched into a small smile. She took her time chewing and swallowing the food in her mouth before answering.

“The Inquisition, I suppose.”

It was mostly true. Home had never really been a place for her since her clan had never really stayed in one place for too long. She had meant to escape this place simply for the sake of not being held in captivity, but she figured she would try to seek out somewhere familiar. Skyhold came to mind. Solas came to mind. When it came down to it, she was not sure.

“I thought so,” Mythal frowned, then studied Nara closely. “You did not intend to go to him?”

“I—” Nara began angrily, then reconsidered.

She did not know for herself where her opposition with Solas and his forces lie now that his mission had been accomplished. They had both lived. Perhaps… they could find each other again and find some sort of happiness. Something seemed desperately compelling about settling down with him at her side. The idea itself made her heart ache with longing.

Yet, there were likely thousands of people displaced and suffering, now that their homes were destroyed, not to mention the countless whose lives were lost because of his actions. The thought made her stomach turn and she set down the bread she had been devouring. Nothing had changed, with him. Before, he was the man who had threatened to burn her world. Now, he was the man who had succeeded. The world needed the Inquisition now, more than ever.

“No,” she decided, firm in her resolution. “I will not be going to him.”

Mythal sat back, apparently satisfied with her response.

“A wise decision,” she commended. Nara lifted her eyebrows expectantly.

“What makes you say that?” she asked aloud when Mythal made no further explanations. Mythal sighed wearily.

“The world hangs in a delicate balance since the Veil was widely destroyed. Solas did not anticipate the moves you had made to ensure your people survived. As a result, he finds himself amidst a power struggle for control as each respective area attempts to mend the fabric of society. This will not do for what he has planned. He was expecting a blank canvas he could mold himself, shaping the new world to his liking, not the stale remains of a world he must work around. I suspect if he is to move forward, he must remove any pending threats in his path.”

Mythal spoke quickly and seemed to be avoiding any specifics, while still maintaining the air that this was all very boring to her. She paced around the kitchen as she spoke, and grabbed a bucket, which she placed on the table. Nara frowned, trying to parse through the information she was just given. Fatigue was quickly settling in, clouding her head, and her stomach was still turning.

“You think he means to take down the Inquisition,” she said after a beat. Mythal seemed annoyed that she had been able to follow.

“That, or the Empress. Drink,” she insisted, pushing Nara’s mug closer. Nara clasped her hands around it, letting the heat soothe her.

“What’s stopping him, then? Why doesn’t he make a move?”

“Good,” she commended, though her voice carried a twinge of irritation. “Your sharpness is returning. From what I understand, he hesitates because he is unsure of your location.”

“My location?” Nara audibly snorted, unable to contain herself. “What difference would that make?”

Mythal raised an eyebrow.

“You think he would purposefully move against the Inquisition if he knew you were hidden within its ranks? Or he would storm Val Royeaux if he thought you had partnered with the Empress?”

“It didn’t stop him before,” Nara responded moodily, sipping at her tea as it cooled. It must have been from the bottom of the kettle, she thought. It was much sourer that what she had earlier.

“On the contrary, he has taken several measures to ensure your personal safety. Once he gains knowledge of your location, I doubt he will hesitate much longer. In fact, I have never known him to hesitate at all. You underestimate how afraid he is of you.”

“Afraid?”

Sleep felt like a blanket slowly being pulled over Nara’s eyes.

“He is not afraid of me.”

Nausea came over her in a wave and she hastily reached for the bucket Mythal had already prepared. She caught a smirk on Mythal’s face just before emptying the contents of her stomach. Trembling terribly, she set the bucket down and tried to mumble an apology, but her throat was raw once more. She looked to Mythal, who gestured toward the tea. Nara gulped the warm tea, then understood a little too late.

She fought against the sudden exhaustion, but it overcame her anyway. She slumped in her chair. The last thing she saw was Mythal rising from her chair, looming over her as she lost consciousness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As she gets to know the hosts who have kept her since the Veil was torn, Nara tests her limitations as she adjusts to her injuries and abilities.

Nara shot up off the table some time later, completely disoriented and not remembering where she was. She promptly collapsed, forgetting how weak her body was.

“Fenedhis,” she swore under her breath.

Her mouth tasted bitter, like she had fallen asleep with a sprig of lavender between her teeth.

Lavender, she realized. Sleeping draught. Mythal had spiked her tea.

“Fuck!” she swore louder. Blair came rushing in from the kitchen.

“Do you mind?” she asked, exacerbated, as she helped Nara back to the table from the floor.

“Quinn’s only thirteen,” she admonished.

“Where’s Mythal?” Nara demanded, trying to push past Blair to get into the kitchen.

“Quit it!” Blair swatted her back to the table. “She went into town for supplies. Should return tonight, at the latest.”

Nara sighed, yielding to Blair’s efforts to restrain her.

“Would everyone at least stop poisoning me? I’m trying to regain control of my body, not be manipulated like a puppet.”

Blair shot her a dark look.

“Add that to the list of complaints you can take up with Mythal, then.” Satisfied that Nara was no longer trying to make a break for it, she stepped back and crossed her arms, glaring.

“Though, I can see what her motivation is. You’re a stubborn one.”

Nara sighed, pressing her fingers into the table as her legs dangled off. She swung them half-heartedly. Glaring back at Blair, she studied the woman for the first time. She had the air of someone who had spent much of her life at her wit’s end. She bore a few small scars on her forehead and cheeks, which, despite the apparent time that had passed since the wounds, still clashed with her pale skin. Dark, sleek hair hung low down her back and matching eyes bore into Nara, who softened under the intensity of her gaze. She remembered what Mythal had said about how Blair had saved her life.

“I’m sorry,” she said, with an effort to soften her tone. “This has all been very disorienting. Please know, I greatly appreciate everything you’ve done to help me.”

Blair uncrossed her arms and wiped her hands on her apron.

“You’d do well to remember that before you go throwing yourself around.” She rolled her eyes and made her way back to the kitchen.

“You’re still just barely alive, remember,” she called as she left.

 _Right, just barely alive,_ Nara thought bitterly.

Where would she start? Clearly, she needed to bring her body back to a working state. She also longed to get out of the house. Despite the fact that she was hardly conscious for the last four months, just being aware of the amount of time that had passed made her feel terribly restless. She wanted to run and see the state of the world.

 _A walk,_ she thought. _I can take a walk._

She looked around for something to lean on. At Skyhold, it seemed she could hardly walk ten feet without coming across a mage’s staff or something of the sort. Blair and her son seemed to live on only the barest essentials, she noticed. She felt a pang as she realized what the woman must have sacrificed to take care of her in such a troubling time. Making a mental note to try to find some way to pay her back, Nara pushed herself to her feet, more carefully this time.

Slowly, she stumbled forward, using the wall to support herself as she made her way to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to rest. Blair threw her an irritated glance, but continued chopping vegetables and preparing food. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she looked around the kitchen for anything that could help with her goal.

She couldn’t help but feel frustrated with herself. Her athleticism and dexterity had always been a point of pride, growing up. She had moved quickly through the training her clan offered in becoming a hunter, earning her vallaslin before anyone else at the young age of fourteen. Her precision and stealth were what set her apart as the most skilled hunter in their clan and, ultimately, this was what prompted her clan to send her to the conclave. Now, her body felt unfamiliar and weak.

Closing her eyes, she tried to push away thoughts of her clan. She could only work with what she had. She took a breath.

Exhaling slowly, she opened her eyes and scanned the kitchen for a something she could use, but came up empty. Through the windows, there were a few trees with low-hanging branches, she noticed. She looked back toward Blair, and noticed her supply of knives of different sizes. Carefully, she approached the counter, being sure to stay out of the way.

“Do you mind if I borrow this?” she asked, holding up one of the knives.

Blair glanced at her from the corner of her eye as she flipped potatoes in a pan.

“What for?”

Nara swallowed.

“I’d like to go for a walk,” she stated simply.

Blair considered this for a moment.

“Quinn!” she shouted. The boy poked his head around the banister that lead to the second level of the house.

“Yeah?”

“Keep an eye on her, will you?”

Quinn looked at Nara—knife still in her hand—and rolled his eyes, sauntering down the stairs.

“Alright,” he resigned.

He closely resembled his mother, though his features seemed somewhat softer. Her angular features were replicated on his adolescent face, somewhat softened by his youthfulness. His hair was a lighter brown, which gave his face a warmer feeling, in comparison. He chewed on a splinter of wood, leaning against the wall and watching Nara as if she were a dog.

Sticking the knife in her waistband, she made her way to the front door, Quinn watching her with a small smirk on his lips. She opened the door, met by a warm spring breeze that ruffled her clothes and blew her hair back. She closed her eyes and breathed it in. It was past noon, and the forest surrounding her was alive with wind and trees. She didn’t think she would ever miss the sensation of the wind against her face, especially after her solitary march from Haven, but the feeling brought tears to her eyes. The sweet smell of summer flowers and dew flooded her nose and she laughed, taking a few tentative steps forward.

She moved too hastily and her knees gave out. She knelt in the soft grass; her fingers winding their way into the dirt. The relief she felt at these undeniable signs of life was overwhelming. Winter had been long and brutal, taking with it every living organism, yet summer had a way of making one forget and be renewed in its abundance. Hot tears escaped her eyes and streamed down her face as she made her way back to her feet and glanced back at Quinn, who looked at her as if she were insane.

She laughed hard at his expression, which made her ribs hurt, but she didn’t care. She marched shakily forward to the nearest tree and looked around for a place to begin her climb. The branches of the tree started at about her shoulder height, but this did not make her job any easier. Her first several clumsy attempts at climbing the tree left her sprawled in the dirt below, but she did not give up. Picking herself up, she glared at the tree while stretching her arm muscles. This tree would not get the best of her.

She stepped back a few paces, clenching Blair’s knife tightly in her hand. Sucking in her breath, she raced awkwardly toward the tree, planting the blade solidly in the trunk at knee height. Using her momentum, she stepped up onto the blade and pushed, hard, launching herself at the nearest branch, which caught her squarely in the abdomen. The branch did not prove strong enough for her full weight and, with a sudden _crack,_ it split from the tree, sending Nara back to the ground in a heap.

Quinn rushed forward to find Nara tangled amongst the fallen branches, breathing hard.

“You alright?” he asked, pulling some of the branches off her.

“Fine, fine…” she responded breathily, trying to hide a smirk. She sat up and crawled toward the trunk of the tree, pulling the heftiest branch with her. Planting herself against the tree, she began cutting the appendages off the branch. Quinn watched her with a frown, then sat at the base of a tree that faced Nara, where he could keep watch.

She started at the base of the branch, peeling away the bark and extremities as she carved. The work was slow-going—the bark peeled away in thin strips—and she frequently had to pause to switch her grip and stretch her muscles. Nara felt a sense of nostalgia as she carved: she had not had a chance to work with wood since before the Conclave. There was something restorative about having to whittle her own walking stick and she indulged in the process. On the other hand, Quinn had become restless and frustrated.

“All this for a walking stick?” He proclaimed after having watched her work for about an hour.

Nara had just about finished stripping her branch of bark and was about to start shaping it.

“Are you a mage?” she asked him, without looking up from her project.

“Yes,” he stated proudly.

Her work was nowhere near finished with her staff and she was already exhausted. The coolness of the morning had deceived her about the heat of the day. Still, the boy watched her closely, eyes sharp. He was so much like his mother: daring her to make her move. Taking a breath, she stuck her knife in the ground and sat back, resting for a moment.

“You have a staff?”

“Yes,” he repeated more tentatively.

“I’ll admit, the best weapons I’ve wielded have been those that were made by someone else. I lack the dedication and precision to the craft. Still, it is useful to know how to carve your own weapon. You never know when you’ll be without one. As a mage, you may need to know how to make do.”

He considered her words carefully, frowning in concentration.

“So, you’re making a staff for yourself?”

She laughed lightly.

“I’m no mage. I helped create weapons for my clan when I was young. I know a bit about a mage’s fighting techniques, but that’s about it. This is simply a walking stick.”

He looked at her with disbelief, but then seemed distracted.

“You know fighting stances? Could you train me?” his excitement at the thought was palatable.

Nara considered. She remembered begging Keeper Deshanna to teach her alongside their clan’s First. When she was refused, she remembered spying on these lessons and practicing on her own. During her time at the Inquisition, she had pestered all the mages in Skyhold to show her some forms or give her tips. She had done the same with every classification. Archery had always come easily to her, but she was always hungry for more training that would help make her more versatile. She remembered when Solas had agreed to teach her; how he had demonstrated each stance first; how patient he had been while she would practice; how tenderly he would correct her stances. She shook her head, trying to clear the memory away.

“If it’s alright with your mother. Isn’t she training you?”

“Yes, and I am thankful for her training.” His excitement dropped a bit and he pulled at the grass at his sides. “She doesn’t have much battle training though. She’s mostly teaching me how to heal and use practical magic.”

Something made her doubt that Blair had not experienced any combative training, yet it was still up to her what knowledge she would allow Nara to pass onto her son. She shrugged.

“You’ll have to ask her, then.”

Nara retrieved her knife and leaned against her staff to pull herself to her feet. It was unfinished, untreated, and scraped roughly against her hands, but she felt the restlessness from earlier returning to her and wanted to move. Quinn jumped to his feet as well, much more quickly than Nara.

“There’s a path this way,” he suggested, leading her toward a clearing in the trees.

They walked in silence—Quinn taking the lead—at a terribly slow pace, as Nara had to stop periodically to catch her breath. Thankfully, the land was relatively flat so she did not have any upward climbs to contend with. The foliage seemed terribly familiar to her, though she could not quite put her finger on why.

“Quinn,” she called softly as she stopped and leaned back against a tree. He turned and paced back toward her, eyes darting around through the forest.

“Can you tell me where we are?”

His gaze snapped back to her and he held her eye contact without wavering. She could see the gears turning in his head. Clearly, he had been instructed on how to answer her questions.

“A bit east from Ansburg,” he replied simply, then turned and began rustling through the trees.

 _Ansburg,_ she thought, trying to place the town. _East of Ansburg…_

She began to tremble. She knew these woods. Her clan had settled for most of her life outside of Wycome, but they had come from the West, exploring the surrounding area when she was about six years old. They stayed outside Wycome longer than her clan had ever stayed anywhere. Nara had made friends with some of the children and, despite the efforts of her clan, was known well by the people in the city. The betrayal and loss she felt at the loss of her clan still stung bitterly. Suddenly, the woods felt claustrophobic. She didn’t want to recognize the foliage anymore. She didn’t want to remember.

“Quinn?” she called out again, voice shaking.

He marched back to her through the woods with a long, sturdy branch in tow. He gestured to it proudly with a smile.

“I’d like to return to the cabin, please.”

His smile faltered, but he nodded and lead the way back; dragging his branch behind him. They marched back to the house in silence. Nara’s limbs trembled with the effort and her breath was ragged, but guilt at quashing Quinn’s excitement along with the sorrow and disgust she was feeling drove her forward. As they approached the cabin, Blair appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips.

“You were gone long enough! Soup’s ready,” she scowled and marched back into the kitchen.

Quinn and Nara looked at each other guiltily. He dropped the branch and jogged into the house to help, but Nara stayed behind a moment. She took a few breaths, trying to calm herself. She had never given herself time to mourn the members of her clan after they were murdered. When it had happened, she had so much on her plate. Later, she knew she would not be able to handle the emotional exertion on top of everything else she was dealing with. It had been almost four years, and now she had the lives of people around the world to consider. More people she couldn’t protect. She could feel familiar pangs of grief poking at her, threatening to consume her.

“Coming?” Blair shouted from the kitchen.

Gritting her teeth, Nara did her best to pull herself together. Now was not the time to mourn. She had much to learn and even more to do. She plastered a small smile on her face and crossed the threshold to the kitchen.

“It smells terrific!” she called back as cheerfully as she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, it has been harder than I expected to be creative and stick to a schedule during a global pandemic. I hope everyone is safe and healthy, and a big thanks to those reading who are being so patient with my erratic posting schedule! You're the best <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Vague and implied reference to physical and sexual abuse.

The three ate at the small table in uncomfortable silence. The soup truly was delicious and did more to warm and soothe Nara than she thought possible, yet it seemed like no one knew quite what to say. She wanted to express her thanks to the woman who had taken her in without question, healed her wounds, and saved her life, but she had no clue where to begin. She used her spoon to swirl the remaining contents of her bowl around, pondering.

After clearing his throat emphatically, Quinn broke the silence.

“She trained as a battle mage, you know.” He looked innocently at his mother, who scowled and turned sharply to Nara.

“Is that so?”

“Well, not exactly,” Nara tried to correct. Quinn glared at her. “I’ve had a bit of training from friends of mine, just in the basics. Nothing too difficult, and certainly nothing involving using magic, since I’m not a mage. Just a few stances and techniques.”

She had a feeling she knew what Quinn was getting at and didn’t want Blair to think she was some sort of threat. Blair’s expression softened slightly, but she still peered at Nara dubiously, as if she knew something Nara didn’t.

“Maybe she could show me a few things?”

Quinn tried to be as nonchalant as possible, but he was still quivering slightly from anticipation. She smiled at the boy, thinking back to when she was thirteen and training to become a hunter. Curiosity and a hunger for knowledge had driven her, much like it did Quinn. She looked to Blair, who was still eyeing her skeptically.

“Only with your blessing,” Nara reassured seriously, wiping the smile from her face. “Nothing dangerous,” she added after a beat.

“What do you want to learn?” Blair turned her questioning to her son. “Why from her?”

“Well…” he glanced at Nara as he responded. “She’s been through it, you know? She’s lived it. If anyone knows what it’s really like out there, it’s her. And I need to know how to really defend myself… and you!”

He puffed out his chest and lifted his chin in the air as if to prove his status. The waning light made his features seem even more angular, though he still looked quite like a child. He was caught in that strange in-between phase of adolescence: not quite a child, not yet an adult. She looked to Blair to see her response and was struck by the sheer expression of love on the woman’s face.

“ _Please_ , ma?” He seemed to sense his mother’s indecision and pressed the opportunity. “Like she said, nothing too difficult!”

Blair turned to Nara, her eyes searching.

“I’d keep him safe; you have my word.”

Blair’s expression tightened and she shut her eyes.

“Very well,” she finally allowed.

Quinn jumped from his seat and cheered, fist in the air.

“But!” she continued, tone firm. “I’ll be checking in regularly. If I don’t like what I see or if I say stop, these lessons are finished, you understand?”

“Thank you thank you thank you,” Quinn rushed to his mother’s side, kissing her on the cheek. He scooped up his bowl and washed it in the sink, then continued bustling about the kitchen: cleaning and straightening up after the meal.

Nara picked at the remaining vegetables and broth in front of her as she considered her new role. Surely, training him would help with rebuilding her own strength. She watched him excitedly flitting around the kitchen fondly as she thought of what she would teach him first.

“I’m going outside!” he called as he raced out the door. He had finished tidying the kitchen and had swiped a knife from the kitchen and was heading toward his branch. Nara smiled, then rose to clean her own bowl.

“Are you finished?” she asked Blair, who nodded. Feeling remarkably stronger after keeping her first real meal down, she brought both bowls to the sink and dunked them in the pail of water. The water needed to be renewed.

“Is there a well outside?” she called.

Blair was standing at the window watching Quinn, her expression misty. Nara knew she should say something comforting, but the words seemed stuck in her throat. Striding over to the window, she looked out at Quinn, who was having a rough go at carving his own staff. She chuckled.

“I can help him.”

She turned to head outside, but Blair held up a hand.

“Let him work at it, first. See what he can do.”

Nara hesitated, then continued to watch from the window. After a long while, Blair sniffed and turned to face her. The woman was not much older than she was—perhaps in her late twenties—but she seemed tired and weathered to the world, much how Nara felt. She wanted to connect with the woman, help her in some way.

“He’s very bright,” she offered awkwardly. “Has he always trained with you?”

“Yes,” she replied simply, then moved around Nara to retrieve a bottle of whiskey from a shelf high above the sink. She grabbed two glasses and set one down in front of Nara, who eyed the glass skeptically as she poured a generous helping for each of them.

“Oh.” Blair grimaced. “There’s nothing in it, I swear. You look like you could use a drink, is all.”

She accepted the glass guiltily.

“Thank you.”

Still, she waited until Blair had taken her first sip to try the drink herself. The woman continued to look wistfully out the window at her son.

“We came here about three years ago, from Wycome. I grew up in Starkhaven, though, and moved to Wycome when I escaped the Circle.”

That explained the accent, Nara thought. It reminded her of the accent many of the Dalish she met in her travels.

“I had nothing at first. I was young, but I got a job as a servant in the Duke’s house. That was when I met Cedric.”

“Duke Antoine’s son?” A sick feeling was creeping through the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with the whiskey. She had known Cedric when she was young. They had grown up around the same time in Wycome. He had generally been kind to her, but she had always been wary of him. The other young elves in the city told her he had a dark side.

“Yes,” she answered grimly. “It was all very romantic. His father wasn’t pleased he had taken interest in a servant girl, you see. He told his father he didn’t care. I felt lucky, considering my status.

“After we were married, he turned nasty. Started saying I wasn’t appreciative enough for what he had done for me or that I wasn’t fulfilling my duties to him, as a woman.”

Blair’s hands and voice were remarkably steady. She sounded like she was reciting from a book; she stared at the table while she spoke and Nara listened in horror.

“He was always sweet, after. Even sweeter when we found out I was with child. Things were good again after Quinn was born, and for a while after that.”

She swallowed.

“Then he found out Quinn was a mage. By deduction, he found out I was a mage. I had been so careful to hide it. He was furious, threatened to kick us both out, to turn us over to the Chantry. He didn’t, but he hung it over our heads long enough. Still, he never laid a finger on Quinn.

“Then, his father began attacking the elves,” she looked at Nara meaningfully, “and I couldn’t sit idly by any longer. I worked to help them, where I could. I tried to appeal to Cedric, but he wouldn’t listen. And then…”

She trailed off, taking a long pull of her drink.

“The Dalish elves were killed. All of them. Soon after, the city elves were all killed. Then the Duke died. Cedric took his place and was under even more pressure. The Inquisition did some good, helped protect the elves that remained in the city, and the mages. But that protection couldn’t last forever. He turned on us again, Quinn too, this time, and I knew we had to leave. I prayed to whoever was listening. That was when I met Mythal.

“It was… violent. When we left. Mythal helped, but he discovered us. Maybe that’s what she wanted, maybe it was unavoidable. I’ll never know. We managed to get away, though, and she’s kept us hidden since then…”

A faraway look crossed her eyes. Nara felt sick. After everything that had happened with her clan, she imagined the worst of it had passed when Duke Antoine did; though, she knew mages were just as easy a target as elves. She should have pursued the situation in Wycome further; she should have made sure better leadership was in place. She had failed this poor woman, who had done nothing but tried to help in the worst of circumstances.

“Blair, I—” she swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m so sorry. If I had known… No one deserves what you went through, after what you did…” She couldn’t seem to piece her thoughts together.

“I’m sorry for what happened to your clan,” Blair replied simply.

Nara took a drink of whiskey to hide her sob. Blair reached across the table and grabbed her right hand, grasping it tightly.

“I’m telling you this because… if anyone can do anything about it now, it’s you. I saw what you did for the mages in the Inquisition. Things changed, with you. They can still change. _You_ can still change things. I know—” she paused “— _he_ tore the Veil, but that doesn’t mean it’s hopeless. His reckoning can’t just be for the elves. It has to be for everyone.”

She squeezed Nara’s hand, then sat back and grasped her drink.

“You’re right,” Nara whispered after a while. She looked outside. The sun had all but disappeared, bringing with it the coolness of night. There was not yet any sign of Mythal.

“Is it true what they say about the two of you? That you were lovers?”

Nara choked on her whiskey, which sent her into a coughing fit. Blair watched her bemusedly while she recovered.

“I don’t know that I would go that far. We were _something_ , certainly. But never lovers.”

“Seriously? Not even once?”

Nara shook her head.

The soft sounds of footsteps making their way through the forest reached their ears and they looked at each other. Blair called for Quinn to come in through the window, who groaned but obeyed. He excitedly showed Nara his progress on his staff—it had several jagged edges where he had stuck the blade too far, but he had trimmed the branches down and had managed to get most of the bark off the makeshift staff.

“Bed,” Blair commanded.

“But—”

“No buts. Go.”

He sighed and stormed up the stairs, bringing his staff and the knife with him, Nara noticed. Blair wiped down the table nervously as the footsteps sounded closer until, finally, Mythal entered.

She looked around at them wordlessly, then held out a parcel to Blair, who quietly muttered her thanks then set about unpacking it and putting away its contents. Mythal took a seat at the table and examined the whiskey bottle Blair had brought out.

“Bring me a glass, would you?”

Nara glanced toward Blair, who jerked her head toward one of the cabinets on the wall. She retrieved a glass, setting it down in front of Mythal, who looked at her expectantly. Narrowing her eyes, Nara uncorked the bottle and retrieved Mythal’s glass, poured it for her, then set it down a bit too forcefully. Blair sucked in her breath through her teeth, but Mythal smiled sweetly.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling more like yourself this evening, Inquisitor,” Mythal complimented, her voice like honey.

Perhaps it was her talk with Blair, or just general exhaustion from a long day of activity, but Nara felt particularly moody and did not want to be dealing with Mythal and having to parse through everything she said. She did not answer, but plopped herself back down in her chair and sipped her drink. Mythal smiled sweetly again at Nara, then turned her attention to Blair.

“How’s she doing?” she asked.

“Better,” Blair responded without turning around. “She went for a walk today and, so far, has kept her food down.”

“Not for long, I expect, if she keeps drinking,” Mythal joked, avoiding Nara’s glare.

For all her efforts not to engage, Nara certainly did not care for the two women talking about her as if she weren’t there.

“I’m no longer unconscious, you know. You can ask me yourself.”

“Ah, your voice is better as well? My apologies, lady Inquisitor. I did not want to assume.” She smiled and nodded to Nara, who continued glaring and folded her arms.

“Do you have some grievance with me, my child? Don’t be shy.”

She knew she was not angry with Mythal in particular: she had little reason to be. Still, the woman sitting smugly in front of her, possessing her friend, and assuming some strange sort of dominance over the room made her blood boil. She was angry. Angry for the fate Morrigan was assigned. Angry at how unjustly Blair was treated. Angry at the state of the world. Angry at Solas, at herself. Angry that she did not seem to be able to do anything about any of it, other than sit here, seething.

“Grievance?” she spat, finally. “If only I had something in which to grieve.”

She stood, then paced quickly, her adrenaline allowing her to forget about her already sore muscles and the tremor in her legs.

“Oh, wait!” she turned on her heel to face Mythal briefly, then continued pacing.

“Perhaps it’s the fact that half the world is dead and it’s my fault.”

She counted her grievances with her fingers as she paced. Blair motioned for her to stop, but she ignored her.

“Perhaps it’s that my worst nightmare has come true, and I’m absolutely useless to do anything about it. Perhaps it’s that any one of my closest friends might be dead and I don’t even know, and it would be entirely my fault, because I was the one who was supposed to protect them.”

She held up a second finger. Once she had tapped into the anger boiling within her, she couldn’t stop herself.

“Or maybe,” she held the third finger up, pausing and turning toward Mythal.

“Maybe it’s the fact that every time I’m awake, I find myself to be subdued or poisoned in some way, seemingly under your orders.”

Mythal’s eyes briefly darted to Blair.

“No,” she set her empty glass down on the table, “she didn’t tell me. Lavender? Magebane?” She held up her wrist where there were blisters from being in shackles for several months. Her veins were dark and her skin was bruised. The scars along her wrist blazed an angry red against her skin.

“No more half-truths.”

She felt her temper subsiding and the exertion of her outburst was catching up with her. She collapsed back into the chair opposite Mythal.

“Am I your prisoner? Are Blair and her son your servants? What purpose do you have in keeping me here?”

She glared at across the table, awaiting an answer, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

“Hmm,” Mythal hummed and paused for many moments. Nara did not break eye contact.

“Emotive, yes, but still nowhere to put it.”

“I’m sorry?” Nara asked. Mythal’s eyes flickered.

“You are upset?” A question. Nara sputtered, but Mythal held up a hand and continued.

“Rightfully so. I assure you, any attempts to restrain or subdue you have been in your best interest. The Fade is one with this world, once again. Magic, particularly _familiar_ magic, is traceable. We had to take certain precautions.”

“And what was your reasoning behind concealing me from…” she stuttered, but recovered quickly “…from Solas.”

Her hiccup had not gone unnoticed by Mythal, who smiled.

“The same reasons I have already explained to you, my child. Do you not remember?”

The sweet smile bore down on Nara. She was the picture of condescension. Nara itched to fracture the perfect smile. Her knuckles tingled. Her head tingled. She considered her opponent and tried to remember what she knew of the woman compared to how Solas had described her.

“I remember.”

Mythal wore Morrigan’s body. The two of them were out of place, out of their own time. She tried to find common ground. She tried to mirror Mythal’s sickly sweet smile, though her teeth were clenched as she spoke.

“I was simply hoping to decipher what you, personally, would seek to gain from having me in your pocket; the Herald of Andraste.” She paused, trying to read Mythal. She got nothing.

“Conqueror of Corypheus and Savior of Thedas, so they say,” she prompted; still all smiles. “Wrongfully, as I’m sure they’ve since figured out…”

Still, nothing.

“Alleged lover of Fen’Harel himself.” Nara’s smile quirked.

Mythal leaned forward, setting her glass down a bit too harshly herself this time. She startled at the noise, then frowned, as if her movement had been unexpected. Blair was frozen at the sink. Mythal smiled at her glass, then took a slow breath, shifting her gaze back to Nara as she did so.

“My child, I’m afraid the esteem in which you were once held has diminished, slightly, since you were an active member of your community.” Her eyes were the picture of sympathy and concern.

“My efforts to conceal and protect you have merely been products of my own hubris: you see, I was once known as the Protector, the All-Mother. I assume you have had contact with one of my previous personifications; namely, Flemeth?”

Nara tried to hide her expression of distrust behind her glass—she took a sip, but sputtered. Suddenly, the whiskey seemed too sweet for her taste. She looked back to Mythal, who seemed to have gotten her answer.

“I thought so.” Morrigan’s face contorted into a scowl. “That form has been warped and twisted by human perception, as I explained before. I had hoped your opinion of Mythal would not be tainted by that fowl being, although I do understand, my child. These are difficult waters to navigate.”

“I understand enough to separate whatever you are from whatever Flemeth is,” Nara spat back at Mythal. “My question was what you, or whatever form you are currently possessing, want with me. Why give me magebane? Why conceal me from Fen’Harel? Regardless of my opinion of you, you’ve answered none of my questions.”

Mythal cocked her head and furrowed her brow, which was such a close imitation of a look Morrigan used to give Nara that she got chills.

“You had been gravely injured. I have made my best attempt to access the collective knowledge of the Well—of which your friend is now a part of—in order to carry out your own wishes. You had already taken measures to conceal the Inquisition form Fen’Harel; I assumed you did not want to be found. As for the magebane, I gathered that you were not a mage before a connection to the Fade was established; furthermore, certain magic is traceable.

“My actions were necessary to fulfill your own wishes, child. Do you understand?”

Mythal had shaped Morrigan’s features into expressions Nara had never seen on Morrigan’s face. Currently, she bore a wide-eyed expression of innocence and sympathy that reassured Nara’s suspicions: that she could not trust Mythal and that she must undoubtedly find some way to free Morrigan from the Well.

“I understand,” Nara replied blankly.

“Good,” Mythal replied, settling back in her chair. Blair, who had remained in the corner of the kitchen through all this, exhaled, then took a breath, looking terrified. Mythal smiled at her.

“There’s no need for such a fuss,” she commented, gesturing for Blair to join them. “We should be celebrating!”

Blair hastily refilled everyone’s glasses.

“Our patient has rejoined the land of the living. A happy day.”

She raised her glass in a toast to Nara. Blair mirrored quickly, gazing at Nara with eyes full of fear.

Nara raised her glass, hailing Mythal.

“To the ones who keep us safe,” Blair toasted, her eyes downcast.

“May their priorities never wander,” Nara added with a saccharine smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to include a story like Blair's in this because it has a significant resemblance to my own life, but also because (in my opinion) stories like hers (and mine) need to be told. This sort of story happens so frequently and it has inspired me to action. If Blair's story has resonated with you and you want to talk about it more, please don't hesitate to reach out.   
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/segadoraa


	10. Chapter 10

Nara sat on the floor of the room she had been staying in, drenched in a cold sweat. Blair and Quinn had gone into town, at Mythal’s request, to find some supplies that might mitigate the effects of Nara’s withdrawal symptoms. It had been a few weeks since Nara had confronted Mythal, who had since begrudgingly agreed to stop using magebane and other potions on Nara without her knowledge.

Except Mythal, true to her word, had cut off Blair’s supply of magebane completely. All the ingredients for the poison in the house also seemed to disappear around the same time. This left Nara in the predicament of having to quit a lyrium addiction with no notice. Mythal had not made another appearance since, so this left Blair and her son to try to council Nara through the worst of it. Training with Quinn had actually proved to be helpful to her as well, both to build up her strength and her constitution against the worst of the symptoms. Blair had joined in, once it became clear that Nara had some latent abilities that were surfacing now that a connection to the Fade had been re-established. Mythal had stressed that Nara was not to use magic of any kind. At the time, it had seemed laughable.

The first time she felt the full force of the Fade upon her, though, she understood Mythal’s warning. It had taken her breath away. The magebane took a long time to fully clear out of her system. She had been training with Quinn on a particularly warm day and had frozen mid-attack. Quinn, who had been progressing quickly, seized his opportunity and swept his staff under Nara’s feet, knocking her to her back. He whooped, triumphant, but Nara had not moved a muscle, even as she crashed to the ground.

The air around her had _changed,_ somehow. It was like the way she felt when she had first used the mark to close a rift, or when she had first tested the abilities of her prosthetic, but multiplied exponentially. It felt like she had been living underneath a glass dome that had suddenly been lifted, forcing her perspective. Everything was sharper, more in focus. She could feel the threads binding the world together at the tips of her fingers. She was paralyzed by the sensation, afraid to move and disrupt some cosmic energy she was unaware of.

Quinn had stopped cheering and crouched next to her, concerned. He had said something.

“Get Blair,” she breathed.

 _Was this how life had been without the Veil?_ she wondered. _How could anyone ever get bored?_

It was as if she could sense the energy of everything around her. The grass that tickled her arms, the wildlife, even down to the insects that surrounded her and the wind circulating through the trees. Everything gave off its own force, however small. She could feel Quinn’s energy retreating as he raced toward the house, then advancing as he returned with Blair.

Blair had eventually been able to talk her through the transition safely, and had kept a close eye on Nara ever since. The three had worked together since then, to help each other learn. They had nursed her through the worst of her withdrawals and how to control her newfound connection to magic and, in return, she had continued training Quinn and helped as much as she could around the house. Her constitution had grown stronger in the weeks that passed, but overwhelming, debilitating nausea and tremors still overcame her from time to time. Today had been particularly rough, and they were out of supplies.

The wet rag on her head was no longer cold, so she removed it and bit down on it instead, trying to quell this wave of nausea. Her hands shook and sweat poured from her forehead. If this was the choice Templars were dealt, it was no wonder more of them didn’t follow Cullen’s lead.

The summer air was stifling inside the cabin. Nara half walked, half crawled outside and laid in the grass for a moment. It brought her no relief. Sighing, she stumbled back inside and grabbed the bow and quiver she had carved for herself as well as her walking stick, her only two possessions. She then tried to make her way down the path. Exercise had always helped distract her from the symptoms and ease her discomfort, so she set off at a brisk pace.

Despite the sweat gathering at the nape of her neck, the exercise worked to somewhat soothe her nausea. Since she took frequent walks and hunted from time to time in the woods surrounding Blair’s cabin, the pathway was familiar to her and muscle memory propelled her forward as she searched the woods. Both Blair and Mythal had forbidden her from wandering outside the path that circled the house, which made Nara feel caged and restless. She remembered the tight rein Keeper Deshanna had kept on her and how frequently she had been reprimanded when she inevitably wandered into forbidden grounds. The same rebellion flared in her now and prompted her to veer off the path.

She tromped through the trees, pausing only to take samples from plants she recognized. Her companions in the Inquisition had always been impatient with her when she would pause to harvest ingredients. She chuckled to herself as she remembered the many times she had been on a dead-set march toward some quest that required the Inquisition’s attention and how she had frequently derailed their momentum by pausing to gather clippings from the nearest elfroot stalk. Basking in the time she had to spare, she stopped to gather every resource in sight.

The forest was unusually quiet today, she noticed. The absence of the usual sounds of restless creatures and chirping birds made the woods seem eerie and oppressive. Each of her steps seemed to echo through the trees. She slowed, taking more care with where she stepped. Out of habit, she drew her bow, slinging her staff onto her back.

It was an overcast day. The farther she ventured from the path, the sparser the trees were. A cool mist formed as she tread carefully onward. Her fingers were relaxed on her bowstring, but her ears pricked at every noise. Something seemed… off.

It wasn’t long before she noticed that the texture of the ground beneath her had changed, somehow. The soft dirt that muffled her footsteps before had turned to tough, packed gravel. A few plants had fought their way to the surface, but they were becoming fewer and farther between. She looked around with concern. The trees looked as if they had been licked by flames and the lack of wildlife seemed to support this theory. She stepped through a clearing in the trees into an opening and lost her breath.

The opening extended vastly before her, as far as she could see in any direction. The land in front of her had turned to ash and stone. There wasn’t a living thing in sight except the forest at her back. She was overcome. Dropping to her knees, she dug her fingers into the ground and swallowed, hard. So, this was the world that Mythal had been trying to hide her from. Questions flooded her head.

_How far did this destruction extend?_

_What was the state of the places she had managed to protect?_

_Had Solas been able to protect the land he controlled?_

_If this vastness reflected the state of the world, how would the people ever recover?_

Her vision blurred as each question was replaced with another. She swayed dangerously on her knees. Clenching her eyes shut, she tried to focus on her breathing again, without luck. She opened her eyes and looked out along the horizon. Shapes swam and changed before her. She thought she saw figures heading toward her, but when she looked again, they were gone. Her stomach turned and she vomited, convulsions shaking her whole body.

 _I need to get back,_ she thought. _I need to lie down._

Shakily, painfully, she pulled herself to her feet, using her staff to support most of her weight. She retrieved her bow from where she had dropped it and strapped it to her back, then turned and staggered her way back in the direction of the cabin.

 _Stupid,_ she admonished herself. She never should have wandered from the path, especially on her own. All her energy was now focused on pushing each foot forward. By the time she had noticed the racing footsteps approaching behind her, it was too late.

She swirled around, which made the world swirl around her again and she lost her balance. She crashed backwards, landing on the side of her hip. She pointed her staff in the direction she though she heard the footsteps, though her vision swam before her.

“Nara?” Blair’s voice was exasperated, though she was struggling to catch her breath.

“Blair! You scared me.” Nara finally focused on the dark shape in front of her and tried to narrow her vision. Blair was bent over in exhaustion, but her head was darting around.

“What are you—You’ve got to get out of here!” She whispered frantically as she tried to pull Nara to her feet. Nara gripped her arms and managed to get to her feet.

“It’s okay,” she reasoned, trying to soothe Blair’s worries. The woman was beside herself. “I know I shouldn’t have come here—”

“You don’t understand,” Blair grasped Nara’s arms desperately, her gaze piercing.

“He’s here. He has found us. You need to _run._ ”

“What— _Solas?_ He’s—” Nara fumbled dumbly, trying to make sense of Blair’s words.

Blair shoved Nara’s staff back into her arms and turned her around, making sure she was steady on her feet before pushing her forward.

“Go. _RUN!”_

Run.

She crashed through the trees, keeping the black, ashy plains just in sight to her right. The cloak she wore whipped in the wind behind her and she considered discarding it as perspiration beaded on her forehead. Her vision still blurred and her stomach threatened to turn itself out again with every step, but running was something she had gotten rather good at. She knew how to run. Muscle memory took over and she focused her energy on quickening her pace, putting one foot in front of the other.

Solas.

How had he found her? What did he want? Blair had seemed terrified. Maybe she should go back? She didn’t think Solas was the type to threaten innocent people just to get what he wanted, but what did she really know about him, in the end? She slowed her pace, then stopped, looking around.

Should she go back? If Solas was a danger to Blair and Quinn, could she protect them? At the very least, her presence would pull his attention. She hesitated, turning back toward the cottage, when an icy blast promptly hit her square in the abdomen, sending her flying backward.

She landed on her back but kicked her legs over her head in a somersault motion, pulling her bow from her back and dropping her staff in the process. Landing on her knee, she readied an arrow and peered out from beneath her hood, scanning the forest for movement.

Another powerful blast soared toward her from deeper within the trees. She dove forward, somersaulting again and bolting to her feet, racing toward the direction of the attack. Her stomach was doing its own somersaults with all the movement and she clenched her teeth to hold back the nausea. The trees rustled around her and she slowed as she approached the spot she thought the attack came from. She put her back against a tree and peered around, still searching for signs of movement.

Nothing.

A massive force struck her and she tumbled backwards again. Frustrated, she shot an arrow in the direction of the blast and quickly nocked another. Her eyes darted through the forest, up through the limbs of the trees, searching for any sign of her attacker. She sidestepped, keeping her back to the trees as she darted forward. Another blast shot toward her but she ducked in time and fired an arrow, this time met with the satisfactory sound of an arrow meeting its mark.

She raced forward as she drew another arrow. The silhouette of a cloaked figure appeared as light shimmered just a short way away from her. The figure twirled her arrow in their fingers before discarding it. Nara could feel the change in the air as they healed the wound in their arm. Her nocked arrow stayed fixed on the figure as they straightened and turned toward her.

She immediately recognized green vallaslin and golden eyes that met her. Abelas seemed weary as he glared at Nara, but something about his presence relieved her. She knew Abelas. She had dealt with him before.

“ _You are alive_ ,” he said softly, in elven. He regarded her curiously, though the same look of distain he had worn at the Temple of Mythal was still set in his features. His silver hood cast a shadow on his pale skin and his long arms hung tensely at his sides, waiting for Nara’s next move.

“As are you,” she responded in common. She knew enough of the elven language, but wasn’t about to carry on this conversation at a disadvantage. Abelas noticed, and shifted his weight with the slightest roll of his eyes.

“Is he here?” she asked. He gazed toward the forest.

“ _I will bring you to him_ ,” he responded in elven. He turned and began walking deeper into the forest, back toward Blair’s cottage.

So, Solas had come for her. This only confirmed Mythal’s theory in her mind, and she made a decision on the spot. She had no intentioned to be delivered to Solas by one of his lackeys. Turning her back on Abelas, she bolted forward, away from Blair, Quinn, and Solas. She would not become a prisoner. She would not give Solas and his forces a reason to act against Blair.

She veered back to the right to try to retrieve her staff, if she could, when she slammed into an invisible force that felt like a wall of stone. She flipped backward once again and yelled in frustration as she got back to her feet, glaring furiously at Abelas, who seemed to have cast an impenetrable barrier around her and was, once again, regarding her curiously.

“After four years of incessant attempts to make contact, I thought reconciliation would be your first priority.” He spoke in common now and his smugness was echoed in the air around him, somehow. Nara felt around for the edge of the barrier around her, glaring at Abelas the whole time.

“People change, as the world does,” she replied sarcastically, gesturing toward the endless ashy plains. “I will not go to him.”

Abelas simply shook his head, then turned and marched back toward the cottage. The barrier around Nara pushed her forward with him, forcing her toward where Solas was waiting for her. She clawed at the barrier, then drew an arrow and struck. It was more powerful than any she had encountered. She drew another arrow and fired, catching it as it rebounded at the barrier and striking again and again. She could feel the barrier weakening, though Abelas seemed unconcerned. She held her breath and drew a new arrow, focusing on the energy of the barrier and exhaling slowly from between her teeth.

She released the arrow and electric energy exploded around her in all directions, frying the barrier and shooting forward into the forest and trees around her. Abelas was blasted forward with the force, but Nara stood her ground, drawing another arrow and striding forward until she was just a few feet from him. Electricity crackled through her hair and fingers as she watched him rise back to his feet.

“I will _not_ go to him,” she repeated. Her arrow was aimed between his eyes.

“Your quarrel is not with me,” he spat angrily as he regained his composure. “You may argue to your heart’s content once I deliver you unto him.”

His hand twitched to form another barrier around her, but the electricity crackling around her intensified in response and he hesitated. She sought her chance.

“Is that what you are now? Fen’Harel’s delivery boy? When I met you, your only purpose was to fulfil that of another. I see nothing has changed.”

Abelas’s pale skin flushed crimson with anger.

“Foolish child. I act of my own will. Because of you, Fen’Harel hesitates and my People suffer. You will go to him because it will put their suffering at ease, because it is the right thing to do.”

“The right thing? In whose eyes?”

Abelas scoffed and paced forward. Nara lowered her bow slightly. As her adrenaline subsided, her shakiness and nausea threatened to overcome her. She fought to keep her composure as she circled him carefully.

“I thought your regime was all about freedom and choice! He meant to free elves from the tyranny of the Enuvaris and to rid the world of slavery. Tell me, what choice did you have in joining him? Is there really freedom in choosing between joining him or becoming an apostate, hunted by the state? Between joining him or being a slave? What choice has he given me now? Come to him willingly or… what?”

Abelas’s smirk faltered and the cloud of anger around him darkened.

“Those who commit themselves to leadership and war expect powers beyond their means to be commanded at their very whim, yet they do not accept responsibility when these powers require a cost. You will submit to Fen’Harel because you have lost this war. You and your forces cannot defend yourself against him. You cannot run forever.”

“Tell me, does he feel glorious in his victory? He got what he wanted. I’ve done nothing to work against him since.” Her knees shook violently and she doubled over, wishing she hadn’t left her staff behind. Her bow clattered to the ground before her.

“What more can I do?” she whispered. She turned her back to Abelas. “What more does he want from me?”

She fully expected to be hit by something as she straightened and turned her back. There was no way she could have stood against Abelas in combat in her state and, surely, he knew it as well. She clenched her jaw, resigned, as Abelas strode toward her.

“NO!”

Quinn’s cry echoed through the woods and both of them turned toward the sound, then looked to each other. Nara raised her fists, wishing she hadn’t discarded her bow, but Abelas was quicker. He lifted one hand to her forehead and swatted her arms away with the other as a cool, tingling feeling began trickling down her spine.

“Do not move. Stay hidden,” he said. “If you run, I will know.”

He retreated in the direction of Quinn’s cry. Nara looked down as the trickling feeling was spreading to her shoulders and arms. She stumbled backward at the sight—she mustered the effort to stay on her feet purely out of spite. She had been knocked down too many times today and wasn’t about to be floored by her own surprise, as well.

The tingling sensation spreading from Abelas’s touch was making Nara’s body transparent. She looked down at her fingers as the magic spread and could see the forest floor beneath her. Taking a breath, she followed Abelas toward Quinn’s cry. Invisible or not, she would not let Quinn or his mother be harmed for her sake.

 _This is it,_ she thought.

When they had met during the Exalted Council, Solas had made it clear that his mind would not be changed. They had been at odds from that moment on. If there was ever a time when reconciliation was possible, it would have to be now. Exhaustion, nausea, and dizziness fought against her, but she continued forward, wondering if, in part, excitement in seeing Solas again was what pushed her to run faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm always apologizing for posting so sporadically, but these last few months have been pretty rough. I've been dealing with some pretty intense personal stuff and just haven't had the energy to write and edit.  
> That being said, everyone who has commented, left kudos, or reached out in some way have such a special place in my heart! You have honestly brightened my days so much and I can't thank you enough! I hope you all are taking care of yourselves and staying safe. <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas makes a reappearance and Nara catches a glimpse.

“Do you know who I am?”

Something caught in Nara’s chest when she heard Solas’s voice echoing through the trees as she crept forward, careful not to make a sound. His voice had an edge to it, albeit a gentle one. He had a unique way of commanding the room with just the tone of his voice—undoubtedly a talent he had spent years perfecting. Before, it had been something that had mystified her. Now…

“I’ve an idea,” Blair responded calmly. Her voice did not waver. One of Solas’s scouts stood behind her, a hand on her shoulder. Quinn was beside her, struggling against the two scouts holding him. Blair looked sideways at him and shook her head slightly. He relaxed a bit, though his fists were still clenched at his sides.

“Then you are not afraid?” the edge carried in his words, even as he made them softer. It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement, as if he was daring her to be afraid.

Nara approached the clearing around the cabin and peered around the tree. She almost passed over Solas as she scanned the crowd gathering there. He was not wearing his armor, as she had expected he would, but was instead clothed in a few light layers of fabric. His auburn hair had grown long enough to curl behind his ears. Nara had to stop herself from audibly gasping as she recognized him. His hands were clasped behind his back and he paced lightly—she would recognize that posture anywhere.

Something roared alive in her chest at the sight of him, warming her and vibrating in her excitedly. She put a hand to her chest and tried to take a deep breath, silently, but the feeling continued. Distracted, she almost missed Blair’s response.

“Do I have reason to be?”

Solas chuckled and the feeling in her chest had her heart hammering.

“That depends on what you have to hide.”

He gestured to one of the scouts with him, who came forward with a bundle in his arms. Abelas had not joined them, she noticed. She scanned the tree line and glanced behind her, but there was no sight of him. Blair looked over the contents, then back to Solas.

“I’m a healer, of sorts.”

“A healer who has use for these ingredients, specifically? I wonder what kind of patients you are tending to.”

Solas’s words were coated in sarcasm, though he seemed to be fighting to keep his tone light. His pacing grew more urgent.

“The kind who have nowhere else to go, or nothing left to try,” Blair explained simply. Solas paused and frowned at her, one eyebrow raised slightly. She sighed.

“I’m a blood mage.”

Nara could see the look on his face, though his back was to her. He would undoubtedly glance to her wrists, where she would bear no scars: Blair only practiced blood magic on patients. If he were to prod at her mana, though, he would know she was telling the truth. She could see the muscle working in his jaw from where she hid.

“You tell me this, assuming I will be sympathetic? You should use more caution with whom you entrust your secrets.”

“I told you I had an idea of who you are. If my hunch is correct, you’re not from the world I know, that hunts and restricts mages.” She paused and Solas resumed his pacing.

“I do not use it on the unwilling, or in the direst circumstances. So far, I haven’t heard any complaints from those I manage to bring back from the brink of death.”

“I see.” He fell silent, the only sound coming from his soft footfalls as he paced. Blair shot a concerned look toward Quinn. Nara’s heart clenched. Slowly and silently, she nocked an arrow on her bow. She knew she couldn’t do much against this group of mages, but she would do what she could to get Blair and Quinn out of the line of fire, if it came to it. She would not let Solas endanger anyone else she cared about. The vibrating in her chest grew stronger and Solas suddenly stopped his pacing. She wondered bizarrely, for a moment, if he could sense her. She willed whatever it was reacting inside her to quiet down and it did, incrementally.

“Perhaps you can help me,” he continued, finally. “I am searching for someone and have reason to believe she may have crossed your path recently.” He paused again, searching Blair’s face.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” she replied blankly.

“She is an elf: dark skin, red hair, green eyes. Taller than you, thin frame. Her left arm was… injured and cut off above the elbow. She may have some sort of prosthetic.”

He stared intently at Blair as she considered. Nara had to fight cracking a smile—he was almost bouncing on his heels. Just then, Abelas stepped through the trees and into the clearing opposite of Nara. Solas looked at him expectantly, but Abelas was looking at Blair with a frown.

“ _I sensed elemental magic some distance away_ ,” Solas called to Abelas in elven.

“ _I was examining the source. It has been dealt with,_ ” he explained. Solas continued to gaze at him, but Abelas looked away. He turned his attention back to Blair, who was watching the exchange with concern.

“Someone matching that description may have passed through here,” she said carefully, then looked to Quinn.

“And what became of her?” Solas pressed impatiently.

“If I tell you the truth,” Blair looked back to Solas, “will you leave us? Unharmed?”

Nara wondered if Blair would give her away. Surely, once he knew for certain she was nearby, she could not hide from him in earnest, with or without Abelas’s invisibility spell. Abelas would certainly be able to locate her, as promised.

 _I should run,_ she thought. She should have run when Abelas had first left her.

No, she could not leave Blair and Quinn to Solas after everything they had done for her. The warm, vibrating thing expanded slightly in her, which oddly brought her comfort rather than panic.

“We have only come for information. We will leave here once we have the information we seek.”

She could sense Solas’s anticipation.

“Even if it is not what you may want to hear?”

Blair’s eyes bore into Solas now, who seemed slightly deflated at the question. He looked to the men holding Quinn and gestured for them to release him. Quinn stumbled forward as if he had been trying to run forward the whole time, then looked to his mother.

“Get in the house,” she commanded.

“But—”

“Go.”

Her tone was not to be argued with. Quinn threw one last look toward Solas, then raced inside, presumably to watch closely from the window.

“There was a woman who was brought to me shortly after the Veil was destroyed that looked like your elf,” she whispered once Quinn was inside. Nara’s stomach dropped.

“A strange boy brought her to me, then disappeared. She was unconscious and gravely injured when they arrived. I healed her and treated her as much as I could…”

She trailed off, gazing curiously at Solas. Her expression gave her a strange resemblance to Mythal, Nara thought.

“What became of her?” Solas asked once more, his voice a whisper.

Blair exhaled slowly, her expression softening and the resemblance fading.

“She died.”

Nara’s heart clenched and the warmth within her disappeared, leaving her feeling cold and empty. Her eyes darted to Solas, who was completely still. She was glad she could not see his face. Abelas was regarding Blair with narrowed eyes. She wondered if he would contradict Blair, but he was silent. The silence pressed on until the scout to the left of Solas broke it.

“Where is the body?” he asked suspiciously. Everyone but Solas startled slightly at his words.

“It was burned, her ashes spread through the forest,” Blair replied softly, her eyes still on Solas.

“Burned?” the elf repeated. “We are to take her fate at your word?”

“She was not the first to die in my care,” she explained, eyes flickering toward the elf. “I cannot properly bury each one on this land, when it has already turned sour.”

“Leave us.”

Solas’s command was a growl, but the emotion building within him bubbled out. The elves accompanying him filtered back into the trees silently. Abelas strode forward toward Solas, wordlessly meeting his gaze. They seemed to be communicating silently.

“ _We will be there when you return_ ,” he said after a moment, then followed the elves, leaving Blair alone with Solas. Nara flexed her fingers on her bow, fearful that Solas would lash out. She remembered his anger at the mages who had bound Wisdom. Yet, they were at fault, whereas Blair was innocent.

As Abelas’s shape faded through the trees, Solas’s composure began to crumble. His hands trembled and he clenched and unclenched them at his sides. He hung his head and clenched his eyes shut. The atmosphere around the clearing changed—the sky darkened and the air felt like ice. Blair was watching closely and hesitantly took a step forward.

For a moment, Nara could have sworn Solas’s shape blurred and became transparent before bulging and shifting into a great wolf. He was not as terrible as Nara had imagined the Dread Wolf to be—his fur matched the auburn hue of his hair and he only had one pair of eyes, which were the same speckled gray as his human eyes—yet, he was still almost three times the size of a normal wolf and was growling fiercely.

Blair stumbled backward a few steps, but did not retreat and kept her gaze on Solas. His fur pricked and he sniffed the air suddenly. Nara’s stomach somersaulted as he turned his head to scan the tree line where Nara hid as if he had caught her scent. He turned away again though, the muscles in his back rippling. He pawed at the ground and his growl subsided into a sad kind of whimper.

Blair carefully stepped toward Solas and knelt in front of him, raising a hand and placing it gingerly on the wolf’s back.

“It was painless,” she whispered. “I gave her a sleeping drought and plenty of healing potions to numb her. She was at peace.”

The wolf’s bulking figure stilled at her words and gazed at her intently. Blair removed her hand. Solas closed his eyes and hung his head, his hot breath visible in the icy atmosphere of the clearing.

Nara was not sure how she managed to turn away when the wolf had bounded away from the clearing and into the woods. Everything in her seemed to want to run after him and embrace him, to tell him she was alive, to put aside everything that had happened and just be with him. Instead, she turned away, tears streaming down her face. She did not look back, but put one foot in front of the other, slowly and staggeringly at first, then faster until she was sprinting through the trees. Exhaustion numbed the grief growing within her like a pit. She ran until she could hardly keep her eyes open, then she ran more. She did not know where she was headed. She did not know what she would do when she arrived. She did not know what she could do for Blair or how she would keep herself hidden.

She knew how to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust me, I'm as antsy for them to be officially reunited in some way or another than you are! I promise it's in the works... but this is a verrrry slow burn. If they're going to be brought together again, it has to be under the right circumstances.  
> That being said, I miss the two of them together desperately! These two kill me.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment to rest? In this climate?

Perched on the branch of a tall tree, Nara observed the wall surrounding the city of Wycome. Stark white paste contrasted the dark stone used to construct the wall and there was not yet any sign of the ivy she knew was native to this area creeping up; the wall was very new. She remembered how she used to be able to navigate the woods and paths surrounding the city with her eyes closed. Now the woods were scorched and blackened as far as she could see in every direction. The city had grown drastically since then, to the point where she hardly recognized it from her position.

The wall was at least twelve feet tall with guards posted at each gate. No one had entered or exited the city in some time, but there was a rotating guard patrolling the entrance. She supposed she could scale it easily enough and try to find shelter somewhere within the city yet, after her clan was killed, the elves in the city’s alienage were purged as well. She was likely to stand out as a foreigner in a city with a small or nonexistent elven population and she did not want to draw unnecessary attention to herself. It was probably better to attempt to enter the city legally, claiming to be a refugee.

Several days previously, as she had made her way through the ashy terrain outside Blair’s cabin, she had stumbled across the bodies of some bandits who looked like they had encountered a rage demon, judging by the scorch marks on their bodies. She had swiped a pair of gloves from one and a leather jacket that was in relatively good condition from another. During her time with the Inquisition, she had kept her hair short—her curls only just beginning their spiral at the top of her head where it was slightly longer. Since then, her hair had grown past her shoulders and she had braided it the way she noticed some city elves tended to braid theirs. Her lack of vallaslin and the amount of weight she had lost would likely help sell her image of being a city elf from Kirkwall. Her most distinguishing features covered and hidden, she hoped it would be enough to prevent her from being recognized.

Clenching her jaw, she made her descent from her perch and gathered the bundle she had prepared, which contained furs and preserved meats from a few animals she had hunted. Pulling her hood low over her eyes, she started toward the entrance. The guards watched her distrustfully as she approached—how long had it been since they had seen someone outside the city, let alone an elf? She cleared her throat as she approached and raised a hand in greeting. The staff she had carved was hidden among the trees; she thought it best not to advertise the fact that she was becoming more familiar with magic. She dropped her bundle at her feet when she reached the gate and waited.

“State your business.”

The guard addressing her was tall with blonde hair and amber eyes and might have reminded her of Cullen, if not for the look of disgust on his face. The other was a woman; she was shorter with mousy brown hair and a kinder face, though her eyes were still narrowed suspiciously.

“My name is Neril; I am a refugee from the alienage of Kirkwall. I’ve been traveling and making camp, but was hoping to seek shelter here. I am a skilled hunter and could offer my services to the people of Wycome.” Nara gestured to the bundle at her feet. “I have furs and meat I can sell in exchange for passage into the city and a place to stay for the night.”

She could feel her heart beating loudly against her ribcage. The guards looked at each other dubiously.

“The alienage was destroyed. Your kind won’t find much in the way of shelter here.”

“Can you afford to be discriminating when it comes to securing food for your citizens? I’ve made camp throughout the area; I know resources are in short supply.”

“She’s got a point,” the other guard piped up. The first guard sighed.

“Very well,” he conceded. “Bring your goods to the Tempered Grape Inn, left after the fork. You’ll need a permit if you want to sell goods at the market. The Innkeeper should be able to give you a map. Ask for the office of merchant affairs in the Upper Market.”

He spoke with a slight smirk on his face, as if he were quite amused by the idea of an elf asking for a permit. Given the state of the city, perhaps he was right to be amused. Nara nodded and forced a small smile to her face.

“You have my thanks.”

She picked up her bundle and ventured through the gate as they opened it. Inside the wall, the city was more similar to how she remembered it. The streets were quiet and hardly anyone was out, but the red brick buildings and vague smell of the river mixed with the sweet smell of grapes and wine had not changed. She clutched her bag tightly; it was strange to see the streets so bare. She noticed most houses had their blinds pulled shut. In some cases, the windows had been boarded up. She passed by an alley and thought she might have seen some scorch marks and perhaps even some bloodstains, but a great deal of care had been taken to scrub the streets. Dead flowers ornamented abandoned windowsills. Everything looked familiar, but the city felt wrong. A chill prickling the back of her neck, Nara hurried along and quietly approached the front door of the Tempered Grape.

Grasping the handle, she pushed the door forward and took a step as she checked over her shoulder, but realized too late that the door was locked and noisily collided with the door. Taking a step back, she checked the windows. The curtains were drawn, but there was light inside and shadows bounced off the window frames. Frowning, she lifted an arm and knocked lightly on the door.

“Who’s there?” a gruff voice answered.

“My name is Neril. The guards outside the gate pointed me here to find a room for the night.”

There was a pause, then the sound of a lock turning and the door swung forward. The burly, human man eyed her suspiciously, pausing on the points of her ears under her hood, then stepped aside.

“Enter.”

Nodding her thanks, she entered the tavern. The atmosphere inside was completely the opposite of the barren streets outside. The tavern was full of people—Nara was pleased to see that some elves were among the crowd, though they seemed to be sticking together and keeping to themselves. The scent of Antivan wine and brandy filled her nose as she passed each table on her way to the bar.

Her hood pulled low over her eyes, she placed her bundle on the bar and turned to find the barkeep, who was not behind the counter. Looking around, she was pleased to a few people sitting alone and keeping to themselves among the red-cheeked groups of people. There was a bard playing softly in the corner where the elves were gathered. Perhaps she would not stand out as much as she thought in this crowd. She exhaled a sigh of relief as the barkeep signaled to her that he would be one moment. She did not recognize him.

Turning back toward the bar, she sat gingerly on one of the stools, not believing her luck. She had hardly expected to outrun Abelas and his sentinels and had certainly not expected to gain passage into the city so easily once she had seen the wall. Asking for the permit to sell her wares in the market would be another story, since someone would certainly recognize her in the markets, but perhaps she could find someone willing to sell for her or on some kind of black market. If she could earn enough, she could arrange to travel…

Where?

“What’ll it be, miss?” The barkeep asked, rounding the corner and pulling a glass down and pulling Nara away from her thoughts.

“Oh, nothing to drink, actually,” she replied hastily. “I—”

“Antivan wine, two glasses.”

A cloaked figure sat down next to her, lowering his hood. Nara’s stomach dropped. The barkeep frowned at Abelas, then exhaled softly and turned to grab the wine and glasses. He uncorked the wine and moved to pour, but Abelas held up a hand.

“The bottle, if we may.”

He set a few coins on the counter, then retrieved the glasses and wine with one hand while grasping Nara’s shoulder tightly with the other.

“Join me.”

He smiled pleasantly.

With the barkeep watching closely, Nara sighed, collected her bundle, and followed Abelas to a table in the corner. He sat against the wall and motioned for her to take the seat opposite him when she hesitated. She dropped her bundle and dropped into the seat, glaring at him. She did not like having her back to the door. It made her feel even more anxious, as if she were not already at a disadvantage. She silently chastised herself for thinking she had escaped.

Abelas poured two glasses of wine, pushing one toward Nara, then made a show of sniffing his and swirling its contents. Nara got the feeling he was purposefully trying to provoke her. He sipped his wine and scowled, reminding her so much of the face Solas made when she came across him drinking tea that her chest ached and began quietly vibrating again.

“I have yet to acquire a taste for Antivan wine,” he remarked casually while taking another small sip. “The flavors are so bold and brash: they assault the senses. Elven wine is much more refined, though much more difficult to find.”

He turned his focus to Nara, whose wine sat untouched in front of her. She folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. Abelas sighed, setting his glass down and leaning forward.

“I told you to stay hidden,” he said in a low voice.

“I did stay hidden,” she countered stubbornly. “That is, from you, Solas, and your men. You did not tell him I was alive. What do you want with me?”

“Do not test my patience; I may turn you over to him yet. I believe you know more than you are letting on.”

Nara grasped the glass in front of her, leaning back and taking a small sip.

“I disagree,” she said, glaring. He opened his mouth to argue but she smiled.

“Antivan wine may be bold, but its flavors are complex. Elven wine just tastes boring and watered down.”

It was Abelas’s turn to scowl at her as she smiled and took another sip.

“Look,” she conceded after a moment, “it seems we are both in need of information. Perhaps we can help each other? We each ask one question, in turn: we both get answers, then be on our way.”

Abelas stared at her with eyes narrowed, then glanced toward the door briefly.

“I shall make no promises, though I can hardly say those are unfair terms.”

Nara exhaled, nodding.

“Why don’t you go first?”

He said nothing, but continued to study Nara in silence. She attempted to make herself look at ease, though her nerves were bundled tightly in her throat and she was fighting the urge to check the door behind her, not to mention the fluttering, vibrating feeling in her chest had returned. She had thought at first that the feeling was simply nerves or excitement at seeing Solas again; yet, it felt foreign and unnatural, like a presence had forced its way into her body. She resolved to spend some time focusing on the issue the next time she was alone, whenever that might be.

Abelas stirred in front of her.

“You said before you have not moved against Fen’Harel since he removed the Veil. He believes it is most unlike you to have simply been in hiding; furthermore, your resistance came the closest in preventing his plans from being fulfilled. How do you explain the resistance we are meeting now, if it has not been on your orders?”

Nara frowned, studying the contents of her glass. Abelas had shown a bit of his hand, though this was likely intentional, judging by how intently he was studying her reaction. So, not everyone was thrilled by the establishment of the strong, organized elven organization that had all but destroyed the world? She was hardly surprised. Who was standing against them? The Inquisition? She worded her answer carefully.

“I have not been in contact with anyone who could make a legitimate stand against Fen’Harel. I have no purpose in hindering him now. I was never against restoring the rights of elves, only in his execution.”

Abelas frowned back at her, hands folded in front of him. His mouth twitched and she felt a prickling at the back of her head, followed by what she could only describe as a sharp, magical jab into her mind. She startled, her chair scraping noisily against the stone floor as she started to get to her feet, then slowly sank back into her chair when she noticed the looks of alarm the people around their table gave her. She looked to the barkeep, who had purposefully looked away to focus on the glass he was cleaning.

“What the hell was that?” she whispered angrily.

“I will not be lied to,” he explained, though he lost his openly hostile attitude and was now regarding her with curiosity.

“I have not lied to you,” she spat, glaring at the table next to them, who hastily averted their gaze. “I have no reason to lie. I trust you know how elves have been treated here in Wycome? If you want to avoid causing a scene, I suggest you stop doing… whatever that was.”

Abelas looked bemused, though he glanced around at the humans surrounding them, who had mostly gone back to their own conversations, apart from occasional worried glances.

“Very well. What is your question?”

Nara tried to calm herself and refocus. Countless questions were running through her head and she wasn’t sure how long Abelas would humor her after his questions were answered. She hastily tried to number her questions in order of importance.

“Are the people of Thedas—people of all races, those who have not joined you—in danger of being pursued or persecuted by Fen’Harel or his agents?”

“We hold no ire for those who have not first greeted us with violence. Fen’Harel is reluctant to incite further bloodshed. Your people are safe, as long as their armies remain peaceful.”

Though he hid the tension behind his words well, Nara still grasped the meaning of what he was not saying. _Your people._ As long as the people remained docile and did not stand against the armies that had destroyed the world, they were not in danger of being crushed under the boot of Fen’Harel, who likely expected them to be thankful for his mercy. He had already hinted that they had been met with some resistance. She wondered how long this false period of peace would last.

“You have remained hidden for a long time, avoiding detection while your Inquisition still stands and acts in your absence. If they are not acting at your discretion, as you claim, what has kept you?”

Sipping her drink to try to buy herself some time, Nara considered lying. She wanted to project a stronger position than the one she had, and her honesty about how she had spent the last few months would not leave her with much to offer in exchange for her freedom, if it came to that.

However, Abelas would be a strong ally if they could find some way to work together. He had helped conceal her from Solas and had not yet turned her over. He seemed to be well-informed about her character and tendencies; she bitterly imagined a scenario where Solas revealed the personal information he had about her to his agents. With some effort, she swallowed and pushed the thought from her head.

“After the last time we met…” she trailed off and rephrased. “We were—I was not where I should have been when the Veil was torn. I was…”

She leaned forward, resting her chin against her fists. Talking about it was more difficult than she had anticipated, and she felt a lump rising in her throat. Frustrated with herself, she swallowed it, and frowned back toward Abelas.

“I was gravely injured, as Blair said. To answer your question, I was unconscious for the past several months; I do not remember everything. I woke up just recently and have been working to regain my strength since then.”

He glanced over her form—which was carefully concealed in her loose clothing—and did not question her further.

“Why is Fen’Harel looking for me?”

Her hope was that asking such a direct and pointed question would perhaps reveal something Abelas did not wish to give away, but he just smirked at her.

“You waste your privilege to ask that which you already know?”

“Enlighten me.”

Attempting to hide his smirk behind his glass, Abelas took a long drink, then carefully set his glass down without breaking eye contact.

“He cares for you.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

“Please.”

“He took many measures to ensure your well-being before he acted; is it so preposterous that he should do so now?”

“Is that your next question? You’ve hardly answered mine.”

“You—” Abelas spat, then clenched his jaw tightly. He swallowed and released his jaw; Nara noticed the air around them seemed to become more breathable, suddenly. The people at the tables surrounding them relaxed a bit in their chairs.

“He attempts to assess the political climate of each faction that remains. As you once headed one of these factions, your status personally would likely alter the climate of any faction you may be part of drastically. Locating you and determining your political inclinations is as much a logistical scheme as it is a personal one for Fen’Harel, I imagine.”

Nara scoffed again.

“Is that something he asks you to memorize before you join his search party?”

“You ask out of turn.”

Smiling despite herself, she nodded for Abelas to ask his question. He seemed just as surprised as she was when he smiled back at her briefly before intentionally clearing his face.

“We first reunited near Kirkwall.”

She couldn’t help it—the smile dropped from her face. Abelas lifted his chin in acknowledgement.

“What brought you to Kirkwall? Where were you when the Veil was torn?”

He would see right through her if she tried to lie; she had already given herself away. Solas knew about the runes—she would not reveal much by explaining that protection to Abelas. She studied him as he studied her: eyes narrowed slightly, jaw clenched, leaning forward on his elbows with his fingers crossed. It was unlikely he did not already know about the existence of the runes within the few cities, she decided. He was trying to determine how she tied in. Perhaps she could explain her purpose while withholding more explicit details.

“I’m sure you noticed the protections surrounding a few cities across Thedas?” she questioned, trying to be as vague as possible. Abelas simply nodded, though he seemed more skeptical.

“I was en route to Kirkwall, attempting to procure the same protection for the city when the Veil was torn.” She paused and frowned; it seemed like such a simple question, something he would have likely already known, given the context assumed for the rest of his questions. “We meant for the runes to protect each city’s inhabitants from the cosmic event we were sure Solas was planning. I… did not make it to Kirkwall in time, and was outnumbered by demons outside the city when the Veil was torn.”

Abelas frowned, crossing and uncrossing his fingers. When he noticed Nara studying him, he removed his hands from the table and leaned back, taking a sip from his wine.

Nara opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by a bell ringing at the bar.

“Last call!” the bartender shouted above the collective groans of the Inn’s patrons. “Get a drink, get a room, or get out!”

Nara looked down to her bundle, then up at Abelas. She had not had a chance to procure a room for herself for the night and now she worried the rooms would already be filled.

“I have a room where you will stay for tonight,” Abelas offered, though his tone suggested that Nara still would not have much choice in the matter. Draining the rest of his glass, he eyed the little wine that remained in the bottle and signaled to the barkeep for another bottle. The barkeep nodded and swept a bottle up from under the counter and set it down in one motion, while retrieving glasses for another customer and fending off the growing crowd at the counter.

Abelas stood and gathered Nara’s bundle while fishing in his pocket with another. He set a few coins on the table.

“The bottle, if you will.”

He then scooped up the empty glasses on the table with his free hand and began making his way toward the stairs. Sighing, Nara followed him.

Perhaps it was a good sign that he had offered her several courtesies throughout the night. He seemed to be attempting to gather information in the same way she was—would it be possible for them to continue to help one another? She quickened her pace to catch up with his long strides as he ventured down a hallway, passing many rooms before stopping at one at the end of the hall.

His pale, green vallaslin crept over his angular cheekbones and brow. Nara watched him as he entered the room, then followed carefully behind him. He was a man who had lived his life in service of someone else—first Mythal, now Fen’Harel. She wondered if he had ever wanted his life to belong to himself.

She knew what her next question would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the absolute best <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Major character death

Nara stood awkwardly in the doorway of the Inn’s room while Abelas moved around, setting Nara’s bundle near the window, depositing the glasses on a small table, retrieving the fresh bottle of wine from Nara’s grasp and pouring them both a generous serving. He faced Nara while he poured, she noticed, and kept his hands in her view.

Looking up to meet his gaze when he finished pouring, she finally entered the room and thanked Abelas for the glass as he held it out to her. He seemed more at ease, she noticed. He had finished most of their previous bottle himself and some color had reached his pale features.

“You know,” she began their questioning again hesitantly, “not many agents of Fen’Harel that I’ve come across still bear their vallaslin.”

Abelas tensed.

“You are a high-ranking agent, I’ve gathered. I assume you’ve been given the option to have your vallaslin removed.”

“What is your point?” Abelas managed through gritted teeth.

“I know what the vallaslin mean, especially to the Elvhen, especially now that the Veil has been removed. You’ve _chosen_ to remain in Mythal’s servitude. Why?”

Perhaps she pushed him too far, she thought as she watched him storm away from her and toward the window. She clutched her glass tenderly as she tried to ease the tension.

“I mean no disrespect. I’ve had dealings with Mythal—or at least, one of her forms—in the past. I’m not sure what to make of her. I was hoping you could shed some light—”

“You think you understand, but you do not,” he interrupted harshly, turning back toward her. “While your peoples’ vallaslin bear resemblance to those marked by the Enuvaris, they are a mockery. You know nothing of the compulsion of will, the indoctrination that accompanies the vallaslin of the Elvhen…”

He trailed off with a faraway look, then shook his head and glanced back at Nara before turning back toward the window.

“For you,” he continued softly, “the removal of your vallaslin was a matter of ignorance and pride versus truth and justice. For us, it is the decision to reject everything we had been brought up to trust and believe, not to mention our own safety, or the sacrifices that were made to attain the status to bear vallaslin.”

He glanced toward Nara from the corner of his eye.

“It was determined my vallaslin could provide connections or insight otherwise inaccessible to Fen’Harel’s network.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and took a long pull of his drink. At Nara’s dubious look, he sighed.

“I have been given an outstanding offer. If myself or select others feel my markings no longer benefit our cause, I may have them removed with my consent. Their compulsions have not been as strong since the death of Mythal; it can be a valuable source of information.”

“Thank you,” she replied softly. “Since learning of the true nature of the vallaslin, I have often wondered about their implications on society as it used to be. I know I still have much to learn, but you’ve helped fill in some of the gaps. I appreciate it.”

Abelas looked surprised at her response. Resting his elbows on his knees, he lowered his gaze, casting shadows over his pale features.

“I tracked you to each of the cities you visited before the Restoration of the Fade. I have seen how the Veil now behaves in those cities. You managed to preserve the Veil tenfold in those locations; enough that they withstood Solas’s plan to reinforce the removal pattern in each major city; enough that the Fade hardly bears a presence in those locations. For miles around each city, the Veil prevails and actively pushes the Fade away.”

Nara tried to keep her face blank as he spoke to not give away her surprise. Perhaps it was better if he thought this was her intention all along. Apparently they had overdone it, a bit.

“How did you accomplish this?”

Abelas’s eyes bore into Nara as he studied her closely. She forced a small smile.

“You mean you don’t already know?”

“I have a theory. I would prefer to hear your story, however.”

“Well, I’ll assume you already know about the rune we discovered, since Solas smuggled one to me the last time we met.”

Abelas blinked. She sighed. There were too many pieces of information tied to this that would give away too much information: the fact that the runes they had established were linked to one solitary individual through blood magic—the fact that Nara had regained some means of manipulation over the Veil despite her missing anchor; the fact that some of the power from Solas’s orb remained within her—any of these could lead him to the knowledge on how to destroy their protections.

“We found ways to strengthen the runes—both in their reach and their potency. I cannot explain more, as the protection of the city’s inhabitants may depend on my secrecy. My apologies.”

She clasped her gloved hand around that of her prosthetic arm and saw Abelas’s eyes flicker to her left hand before meeting her eyes once more.

“Very well,” he said at last. “I would like to retire for the evening, if you do not—"

“I have just one more question,” she interrupted, “if you’ll allow it.” Abelas nodded.

She paused, taking a breath to steel herself.

“I’ve only had a small glimpse outside the cabin since awakening. I know very little about the state of the world, particularly as it pertains to the Inquisition and its members. I… I suppose I don’t have a specific question, but if there is any light you could shed on… on the extent of the destruction I’ve seen, I would appreciate it.”

It had been a struggle to keep her voice from cracking as she spoke. She stared at her glass. Her knuckles had turned white from grasping it so tightly. When Abelas did not respond, she looked up at him: his expression was softer than she would have expected. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before averting his gaze.

“Many more people survived that we had anticipated; we did not learn of the emergency decree the Inquisition had issued to seek shelter in cities until after action had been taken.”

He had been gazing at his glass as he spoke, but now directed his attention toward Nara.

“In many cities, this meant the protection of anyone within the walls.”

He looked away again.

“In a few cases, it seems the conglomeration of people who were angry and fearful for their lives attracted exceptional attention from the other side of the Veil. We are still trying to survey the damage, as you are; I trust you have seen the state of the land beyond the cabin you were living in?”

He looked to Nara, who nodded.

“I’m afraid much of the open world is in the same state. Resources are scarce. Regarding the Inquisition, much of what I know of its’ members I learned prior to the destruction of the Veil. Your organization has done well to conceal its workings and to deter our spies from confidential information.”

Pausing to take a long drink from his glass, he averted his gaze from Nara once more, his eyes darting around.

“Be that as it may, I was recently sent to Kirkwall in search of… of you.” He looked back to her, his eyes searching.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice failing her, “please just tell me.” Abelas swallowed.

“I was sent in search of a mutual contact you had. When I arrived, I found a city in ruins. Kirkwall’s great walls and defenses were no match for what had awaited across the Veil for some time, I suspect. Anyone who survived the attack likely fled long before I arrived. I found…” he trailed off with a nervous glance toward Nara. He sighed.

“I found his body in a tavern. He was surrounded by the dead—both humans and demons.”

Abelas spoke softly and gazed at Nara with more tenderness than she had thought him capable of, but she felt like she was far away, listening in on their conversation through the depth of an ocean.

_I found his body in a tavern._

The image of Varric, battered, bloody, and dying flashed through her mind. She thought she might be sick.

Varric—a man who had fought against corruption long before Nara had even known him, who never hesitated to defend the vulnerable and see the good in those at their wit’s end, who had always vehemently protected his friends to the best of his ability—was dead. His friendship and council had done more to help Nara maintain her humanity during her time with the Inquisition than any of her advisors combined. He had been loyal to his friends and the people he trusted to the end, yet he died alone.

Realizing she had been holding her breath, Nara gasped and a sob shook her body as she fought to retain control of her grief. She stood abruptly, pacing through the room and holding her breath.

“There were three letters in the desk where I found him,” he continued quietly. Nara stopped pacing and stared at him.

“One was addressed to, as he put it,” he retrieved an envelope from his satchel, “’the first bastard to find me.’ I assumed that referred to myself, as the letter had not yet been opened. Per its’ instructions, I delivered the second letter to Solas. I believe the final letter was meant for you.”

He held an envelope out toward Nara.

_Stones_

It was written clearly, in his handwriting, across the front. She stared blankly at the thick envelope, then at Abelas, unbelieving. Setting the envelope on the table, he continued.

“I have not opened it. There were a number of instructions in the letter addressed to… in the letter I read, which we can discuss at a later time.”

Nara nodded numbly, picking up the letter next to her.

“I suspect we may have more questions for each other, when the time comes.”

Pausing for confirmation from Nara, who continued to stare blankly at the envelope on the table, he gingerly placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Ir abelas, da’len.” 

Nara looked up at him, her eyes full of sorrow.

“I will leave you for tonight. We will meet again in the morning.” He framed it as a statement, yet he still waited for confirmation from Nara before taking his leave.

She nodded again and Abelas left quietly, leaving her alone with Varric’s letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry... Varric is hands-down my favorite companion and this chapter was rough for me to write. Part of the story of his death is what sparked the idea for this fic, though, so I knew I would have to get here eventually. I just love him and I'm so saaaad.


	14. Chapter 14

Two letters sat side-by-side on the table of the small, rapidly darkening room. The first bore Varric’s thick, sprawling writing and was several pages thick. The second letter was much shorter, bearing the thin, elegant writing of Solas. Nara sat with her forehead against the table, staring at the floor.

She had torn open the first letter almost the second Abelas had left the room, trying to clear his words from her mind.

_He was surrounded by the dead…_

She blinked to clear her eyes, then read quickly.

> _Stones,_
> 
> _If you’re reading this, it probably means I’m pushing daisies (not literally—has anyone checked on her lately, though?), which means I owe you an explanation. You’ll get one, don’t worry. It has all the elements a story should have: a hero, romance, impending doom. Someone will write about it someday, I’m sure of it._
> 
> _But first, I want you to read the other letter in this envelope. As I understand it, the letter arrived at Skyhold about three days before the Veil was torn with instructions that it was not to be opened by anyone but you. Leliana recognized the handwriting—as I’m sure you will—and sent it to me without opening it, hoping I would be able to pass it onto you when you arrived. She instructed that if you had not arrived before the letter, to open it and send word back to her of any pertinent information. So, full disclosure, I’ve read the letter. Right now, I want you to stop reading this and pick back up here when you’ve finished the other letter._

As instructed, Nara stopped reading, but stared at Varric’s words for some time. Then, with hands shaking, she gently picked up the second letter enclosed in the envelope and ran her fingers over where Solas had addressed the letter to her.

_Inquisitor Lavellan_

She bit her cheek, not sure if she actually wanted to hear what Solas had written to her before he tore the Veil, destroying her world and nearly her along with it. Her mind went back to Varric, who had seldom gotten along with Solas, yet had defended him alongside Nara when almost everyone else had wanted to kill him. If he wanted her to read this letter, she would do it for him.

> _Inquisitor,_
> 
> _I expect this letter will not be a welcome correspondence after our last meeting, but I ask that you allow me to extend this courtesy. As you know, I have collected what I need to restore the Fade to this world—an act which will likely unleash chaos and destruction. It is difficult to say what the exact result will be but, if my estimates are correct, I anticipate it would place many of the people of your world in grave danger._
> 
> _I wish to offer you this warning: I will move to destroy the Veil and restore the Fade on the thirtieth day of Drakonis. I have come to this decision with great remorse and with full awareness of what the cost is. I will not insult you with more apologies, but I hope you can understand—regardless of what I do, one world dies. I have seen so much good come out of this world and much of that is thanks to you; yet, without a connection to the Fade, the elves have become a mere shadow of what they used to be. I can no longer stand by and watch as elves fade into history. I owe it to the People to restore their potential in the world to come. You may see this as ironic, but I hope to follow your example and have taken your words to heart: I have taken my breath and now I must try again._
> 
> _My hope is that this warning will allow you to seek protection for yourself and your fellow members of the Inquisition. I heard what you said at our last meeting—it is unfair of me to offer this warning to you alone—yet, I have one last selfish request of you. The wolf pendant I gave you bears a rune of protection that may withstand the power of the spell I will use to tear the Veil. Keep it close and you may survive. I believe you may still be in danger from the power of the Anchor and its’ trace in your body. I may be able to help, but it will take a powerful connection to the Fade to do so. Once the Fade is restored, one of my agents will send word to the Inquisition for you. It is likely I will be indisposed, so I have trusted one man with the details of the Anchor and how its’ traces may be removed. If you are agreeable to a meeting, you may send your response to Abelas._
> 
> _Finally, I have given much thought to what I might say to properly convey what you mean to me and how the thought of losing you or causing you any further pain fills me with nothing but overwhelming sorrow, but even I can hear the hypocrisy in that—especially in a letter of this nature—so I will leave it at this:_
> 
> _Knowing and loving you has changed me in ways I did not think I could be changed. Your unrelenting drive, unyielding morality, and unquestionable compassion so greatly affect anyone who encounters you that you have undoubtedly made this world a better place, just for having you in it. I am thankful for you in more ways that I can explain, namely that I was privileged enough to learn from you and your graceful leadership. In all my days, I never have met someone whose heart was so uncorrupted by power, wealth, or greed. If, somehow, we both survive what is to come, I will submit to you and you alone for judgement._
> 
> _Until we meet again, know that my heart is unequivocally yours._
> 
> _Ar lath ma._
> 
> _Solas_

As soon as she finished reading, Nara bolted up from the table and began angrily pacing through her room, crumpling Solas’s letter slightly as she forcefully cast it back to the table. She wished she had not read it—she did not want to hear about how Solas felt about her or how he still valued her life over those he once called his friends; over Varric’s life. The fact that he was aware of his own hypocrisy and _still_ carried on with his plan only made it worse. He thought to warn her—did he think she would protect herself while she watched everyone she loved perish around her? Did he think the members of the Inquisition would hide, locked up in Skyhold, while the world burned around them? Of course not! They would—

A thought occurred to her and she abruptly stopped pacing, almost tripping over her own feet.

Varric knew when the Veil would be torn.

Scrambling back to the table, she hastily brushed Solas’s letter aside and snatched up Varric’s letter once more, skimming what she had already read to find her spot.

> _So, that’s that._
> 
> _I gave your rune to someone who might be able to make better use of it; I suspect she will try to find you once all the dust settles. I knew what I was doing and I made my choice. Remember what I said before: none of this is your fault. You’ve given so much of yourself to the world, but you’re still just a person. A person who did the best she could with what she had and deserves some rest, which leads me to my next point: I have a few requests. You didn’t think I’d let you off that easy, did you?_
> 
> **_One_ **
> 
> _You’re going to take some time for yourself._
> 
> _I watched you give more and more of yourself to the Inquisition in order to beat Corypheus and, after he was defeated, you didn’t miss a beat before jumping back into your Inquisitorial duties and searching for Solas. Then, you learned who he really was and what his plan was and you did not hesitate before reshaping the Inquisition to go after him. Stones, you need a break!_
> 
> _The world will be okay without you for a few months. Leliana can handle the Inquisition, Solas and his gang are going to need time to adjust, and everyone else is going to be scrambling around trying to figure out what the heck they should do now anyway. My advice? Let them scramble a little. There’s no need for you to pull your hair out along with them. Take time to heal and to grieve—you’ve been through a lot and I know it weighs on you. Let yourself be not okay for a while._
> 
> **_Two_ **
> 
> _Find people who will help you put yourself back together._
> 
> _When you’re away from the Inquisition, my guess is you’re going to fall apart a little bit. That is okay. Shit, after what you’ve been through? I’d be surprised if you didn’t. Those last few days at Skyhold before we all went our separate ways, you were wound tighter than a three-day clock. You need to let go, but that doesn’t mean you need to be alone. You helped each and every one of us in unique ways, now it’s your turn to ask someone to help you._
> 
> **_Three_ **
> 
> _Try to work with Bianca._
> 
> _I know, I know. You two never really saw eye to eye after that whole “showing Corypheus the way to access red lyrium” debacle, but she has connections to the Guild, which might still be operational, and the Guild has a few connections to dwarves living in the Deep Roads. Not to mention, she has my rune and knows all about Solas’s plan to destroy the world and your plan to keep people alive. Fair warning, she might try to knock your eyeballs out of your skull and feed them to you, but she is your best chance of helping the dwarves heal. She will try to work without you if you don’t find her, and I think we could probably agree that it would be best if the two of you worked together._
> 
> _Granted, this instruction only applies AFTER you’ve taken time for yourself to heal. You’re going to need your wits about you if you’re going up against Bianca._
> 
> **_Four_ **
> 
> _Find Solas._
> 
> _I read his letter. I know what he said and I know you’re probably beyond angry with him, but read it again after a day or two and see if you see what I see. Keep in mind that beyond you, me (R.I.P.), and maybe a few of his agents, no one else has read that letter._
> 
> _What I see is a man who deeply regrets what he has done, and who already regrets what he thinks he has to do. I see a man resigned to whatever fate may befall him. I see a man saying goodbye._
> 
> _Now, don’t get me wrong, I’d like to whet my fists with his blood as much as the next guy (in fact, when you see him, will you maybe shoot at him once or twice for me?), but even a textbook villain deserves some kind of an ending, and I think we both know Solas is no textbook villain._
> 
> _Whenever you would sit in judgement at Skyhold, I so admired your creativity in repurposing our greatest adversaries for something that would help people, while maintaining their humanity and dignity. I saw you check on them from time to time and make sure they were being pointed in the right direction. You made a point of rehabilitating your enemies; you tried to teach them a way of life separate from their thirst for power._
> 
> _So, I don’t necessarily think Solas was power hungry, but I do think his great quest deserves an ending. I think even he would like an ending, at this point. When you reread his letter, pay special attention to this line:_
> 
> _“If, somehow, we both survive what is to come, I will submit to you and you alone for judgement.”_
> 
> _Stones, if it were up to me, I’d send you off to an early retirement where you would never have to work toward anything else in your life. Or, since I know you’d probably hate that, maybe some nice job where you don’t have to make any tough decisions and get to rest at the end of each day. I’ve never been one to make demands of people who have already given so much, but dammit, if that dumbass elf didn’t make me respect him when he was with us and make me pity him for the path he thought he had to follow. It might actually be good for you as well, and give you some closure for your whole… thing… I’m supposed to be an eloquent writer, I know, but it’s harder than you might think to write contingencies for your own death! I’ve been writing for a few hours now and drinking pints probably twice as long._
> 
> _Anyway, here’s my request: Find him, give him his ending, then find some way to move on. Don’t worry, I’ve attached notes for my next novel and they include every scenario, whether you decide to move on separately, together, or if you’ve just had enough and decide to lop his head off._
> 
> _Speaking of which…_
> 
> **_Five_ **
> 
> _This may be the most important request I have for you, certainly the most demanding. It will require hours of your time, indominable focus, and ruthless dedication. You’re the only woman I can trust with this job, since you’re the only one with the insight necessary to complete it._
> 
> _You’re going to finish my next book! Or, at least, find someone to write while you advise. I’ve attached all of my notes for the plot, including some different scenarios for events that haven’t happened yet that I think would be particularly poetic, but somebody had to go and tear the Veil just a few weeks too soon, so I won’t be able to finish it myself._
> 
> _I’ve included my conditions for publication, documentation authorizing you to have final say over the plot, and a recommendation for an author I think could do my writing justice. Spoiler alert: it’s a sequel to All This Shit Is Weird, but don’t feel like you need to market it that way—the plot should speak for itself. You’re still the main character, though, so get ready for that._
> 
> _Stones, you’re one of my closest friends and I love you. I won’t weigh you down with all that emotional shit (I think Solas covered that pretty well in his letter, don’t you?), but you should know that it was an honor to serve you in the Inquisition. Meeting my end under your leadership was a far better ending to my story than I ever would have written for myself, so I thank you for that._
> 
> _Take care of yourself. If you don’t fulfill my requests, I’ll haunt you forever._
> 
> _Varric Tethras_

A choked laugh escaped from Nara through the tears that had been streaming down her face as she had read through Varric’s letter. She laughed harder as she thought of his letter as a whole: it was much like his books. She had laughed, she had cried, she had been angry, but overall, she was left with a warm feeling in her chest.

The warm feeling spread through her chest down her arms and into her fingertips. It spread through her abdomen and down her legs, into her toes. It spread up into her head and she could feel it behind her eyes. She could feel it thrumming and vibrating throughout her whole body now, until she was gasping and clawing at her skin.

Warmth overcame her until she could no longer see, but she realized after a moment that the feeling was leaving her. She felt her extremities vibrate, then still. The feeling retreated slowly; it seemed to be exiting her body through her chest. When she could not feel it within her anymore, she realized she had been clenching her eyes tightly shut and opened them.

Sitting on the table in front of her, starting at her with wide, soft eyes, was a warm, glowing light that had seemingly taken the shape of a large cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't just leave Varric like that! Especially not for very long... he is 100% the type to leave behind long instruction lists to everyone he knows, even after he's gone. He always makes me think of sad, ballad-esque music, so here are a few songs that remind me of him:   
> “Alabama” by Night Moves  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2x7InYBi_X0&ab_channel=NightMoves-Topic  
> https://open.spotify.com/track/6EgiD9JhTjQQG2QVhFt0lx?si=vm_GNR3hSkqAil3xhFyXTQ
> 
> “american dream” by LCD Soundsystem  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ML1MUKOJIIo&ab_channel=LCDSoundsystemVEVO  
> https://open.spotify.com/track/60k0xRw1oYUwZYp4e2iue8?si=Ds2S3VOTQQuS1YIWMLVPrw


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Heightened anxiety, panic attack

It was definitely a cat.

A glowing, pulsating, translucent cat, but a cat nonetheless.

Nara and the strange ghost cat stared at each other for a long time. At one point, without breaking eye contact, Nara reached past it to her glass on the table, draining it as the cat blinked innocently at her. She sighed as she set the glass back on the table.

“Are you—” she began, then rephrased. “Do you speak?”

The cat quirked its head back at her, then moved forward to place a paw on her forearm. She gasped as the paw sank below the surface of her skin and a weighty, warm feeling pressed upon her that seemed to make her chest ache. All at once, she felt both sad and happy, both complete and empty. The cat kept its gaze upon Nara and began to purr.

“That explains the vibrating, I guess.”

She hastily pulled her arm away and started pacing around the room. The cat stopped its purring. Turning back once she reached the far side of the room, she stared at it and ran a hand through her hair.

“So I’m guessing that was what it is like to be possessed by a… spirit. I don’t suppose you’d tell me what kind of spirit you are?”

The cat said nothing, but leapt a little too lightly from the table over to the bed, where it flopped over onto its side.

“Right.”

She continued her pacing.

Possessed by a spirit—this was a new one. She had always thought it would be something she would recognize more immediately, though she did have quite a bit on her mind lately. The cat was purring loudly on the bed and filling the room with a warm kind of pressure. Nara’s thoughts drifted back to Varric’s letter. Images filled her mind: Varric laughing heartily in the tavern at Skyhold, Varric saving her with a quick arrow fired at a demon she didn’t see, Varric arguing passionately with Solas for the well-being of Cole. He had been her first friend at Haven. His humor and warm spirit had drawn her in; they had bonded together over how bizarre everything had been at Haven and he had looked out for her ever since.

She remembered their conversation after the game of Wicked Grace on one of their last nights at Skyhold. How long had he been planning this? He had undoubtedly given his rune to Bianca in an effort to protect her instead of himself. If he would have said something, asked for another rune, maybe she could have found another way. She had been on her way and she had been too late. Familiar pangs of grief and anger bubbled in her stomach.

Solas had destroyed the world in his attempt to fix his mistakes and it was ordinary people, good people like Varric, who paid the price. Even long before she had known him, Varric had done nothing but look out for other people, people who did not have a voice for themselves or could not stand up for themselves.

Now he is dead. She tried to force comprehension on herself.

It was Solas’s fault. It was her fault.

Tears welled up in her eyes and her head spun; suddenly, it was difficult to breathe. She rocked on her feet before her knees gave out, depositing her in a heap on the floor. She struggled to control her breathing as tremendous sobs shook her.

It was too much.

She reached out for something to hold onto and grasped desperately at the bedsheets, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly as she tried to control herself. The cat peeked over the bed at her. Her eyes blurred with tears and she squeezed them shut. The cat joined her on the floor and rubbed gently against her leg. She felt its warm pressure increase as it settled itself in her lap. Tears began spilling in earnest from her eyes and she sucked in a breath, which came in a gasp. Her grief overwhelmed her and she cried hard. The cat seemed to be encouraging her somehow.

She held it close to her chest, clutching it tightly as she succumbed to her grief. It crashed over her in waves, taking her breath away for a brief moment of silence before she would desperately gasp for air. 

How could he do this? She had loved the man, the humble apostate with a quiet confidence and intelligence who would go out of his way to help people, to bring some peace and happiness back into the world. She had seen the grief and darkness in him on a few occasions and it frightened her, but she never would have thought him to be someone capable of this… this genocide. She had thought all of the pieces of her heart could not be damaged further, yet something new broke within her. He was not the man she thought she knew, perhaps he had never been. She felt like such a fool for not realizing it sooner, for holding out hope for this long. How many more lives could she have saved if she hadn’t been consumed with the idea that she could change his mind?

She tried to hold her breath to slow her heart rate and get control of her breathing. At her Dalish camp or at Skyhold, a pond of water or a bathtub had never been too far away. When her emotions overwhelmed her like this she used to submerge herself and look at the world underwater—from the bottom up. Underwater, everything was quiet, subdued. Pieces started to make sense when looking at them from the bottom up. Above ground, everything became messy and inconceivable.

She let herself fall back and rested her temple on the floor, still holding the cat tightly to her chest and inhaling and exhaling in short, staggered breaths.

Memories of Solas filled her mind—his strong hand extended toward her on the balcony at the Winter Palace, his soft smile as she placed flowers on Senna’s grave in the Hinterlands, the crinkle of his nose as he choked on his tea in an attempt to soothe his mind from the injustices of the world—all were followed with bitterness. He had lied to her, to everyone. What she had thought was a righteous devotion to making the world a better place was actually just a selfish attempt to correct his mistakes and assuage his own guilt.

Whatever feeling or sentiment that kept her from acting against him before was replaced by a hard resolve. Varric was right—Fen’Harel needed an ending. Someone needed to bring him to justice and, if he was willing to submit to her alone, she needed to be the one to do it. Plans and ideas began to flit through her head, each one gone as quickly as the next arrived. She struggled to stay awake, but her thoughts dulled with fatigue. She let her mind drift and finally surrendered herself to sleep.

***

She awoke with a start. Bolting up, she fought momentarily against the blankets covering her before she realized she had been tucked tightly into the bed. Blinking, she stilled and looked around the room. The cat lay at the foot of the bed and blinked— _groggily_ , she noticed—back up at her. Her head throbbed and her eyes felt swollen. She rubbed at her eyes as the cat stretched luxuriously before leaping gingerly to the floor. It glided over to a piece of paper by the door and circled it. She could make out Abelas’s name signed at the bottom. 

So, it hadn’t been Abelas who put her in the bed, she surmised. If so, why would he bother slipping a note under the door? She looked over the cat warily. Clearly, it did not intend her any harm, but she still did not greatly appreciate the idea of being possessed without her knowledge. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she frowned at the cat.

“Listen,” she began, wholly aware of how bizarre this situation was, “I appreciate you trying to take care of me, but please, could you refrain from um… possessing me without my direct permission?”

To her surprise, it seemed to hunch its shoulders in what seemed to be an expression of sheepish remorse. Sighing, she stood from the bed and retrieved the letter and hesitantly patted the cat on its head. The gesture comforted her somewhat. She smiled slightly at it before heading back to the table where the other letters lied undisturbed.

> _N,_
> 
> _A matter of no concern to you has called my attention away. I trust that I need not impress upon you the futility of leaving the city, as I will not be gone long. I have an arrangement with the innkeeper to allow you food and shelter until my return._
> 
> _As you may have noticed, the status of elves such as yourself in the city is already in a precarious position. There are many watchful eyes; word spreads quickly. Keep to yourself and do not cause any trouble. I will be back for you soon enough._
> 
> _Abelas_

She set the letter down next to the other two, unsure of whether his words carried a threat or a genuine warning. She gently straightened each of the three letters on the table as she organized her thoughts into three distinct ideas.

First, she knew for certain that she did not want to live on the alleged generosity of Abelas. She was perfectly capable of finding a way to provide for herself and was uncomfortable accepting any “arrangements” from him that might prove to have unforeseen costs.

Second, she was still woefully uninformed about the world. She missed the resources of the Inquisition, where Leliana’s spies could collect information about the political climate of the world while Scout Harding’s team could explore the land. Still, it would be good for her to get out and see things for herself. Truthfully, exploring new areas was one of her favorite aspects of her job as Inquisitor.

Finally, she needed to figure out how she would deal with Solas. Even if he was not abnormally powerful, she was clearly in no fit state to confront him at the moment. Perhaps Varric was right—maybe she would be better off taking some time for herself first. She still needed to regain her strength and she could not even buy parchment to write a letter until she had some means of income.

First things first then, she thought. She rose from the table, splashed some water from the basin into her face, and swiftly dressed herself. Opening her bundle, she sniffed at the meat wrapped in parchment. It had not yet turned, though she would be pressing her luck if she waited much longer. Carefully folding up each letter and storing them safely inside her jacket, she gathered her bundle and cloak and turned to leave the room.

The cat, glowing brightly, leapt from the bed and followed her to the door. Nara hesitated.

A bright, ghostly cat spirit would likely not help her in her attempt to be inconspicuous.

“No, you need to stay here,” she scolded gently. She pointed back to the bed. The cat stared at her.

She turned to leave the room and the cat followed her once more.

“Listen, you can’t come with me,” she explained. “You can stay here or you can go somewhere else, but you can’t follow me, I’m sorry.”

The cat rubbed against her shins, purring loudly. Nara stood and sighed.

“Can you blend in at all? Maybe you could glow… less?”

It quirked its head, blinked, then shook itself off as if it was trying to shake water from its back. At once, its glow faded and was replaced by inky black fur. Bright green eyes stared up at Nara and the cat gave a painfully adorable chirp, as if it was hoping for approval.

Nara smiled and bent to pat the cat on the head.

“Better. Stay close, if you’re coming. Don’t cause any trouble.”

She rolled her eyes at herself as she repeated Abelas’s words to the cat, which strode forward to the door and turned back toward Nara, who shrugged before opening the door and heading downstairs to the tavern. It was much less lively than the previous evening—the bard had apparently gone home and the only patrons were stony-faced and seemed to have no interest in conversation, which was fine by her. The innkeeper looked up as she entered the room.

“Sleep well miss?”

“Like a rock,” she answered, making her way toward the door.

“Going out? Mind if I have a quick word?”

She paused, turning back toward him. He seemed to regard her with an air of both curiosity and hostility. It was probably better to humor him than to give him a reason to dislike her even more.

“Of course.”

She walked slowly over to the bar and took a seat when he gestured for her to do so, depositing her bundle on the chair next to her. He eyed it suspiciously.

“Is there a problem?” she asked, doing her best to seem naïve and innocent.

“You’re with him, are you?” he asked. Nara blinked and tilted her head.

“The tall elf,” he explained. “Abelas.”

“Oh,” Nara smiled and feigned comprehension. She figured it would be better to feign innocence, given the situation at hand.

“I wouldn’t say I’m with him, though he has been kind to me. We simply have a mutual acquaintance and ran into each other last night. He put me up after I had… well I had a bit too much, to be honest. I don’t quite have a stomach for alcohol! He has been very generous.”

She hoped she was not pressing her luck. Abelas could have told a very different story, though she suspected him to have maintained more privacy. The innkeeper narrowed his eyes and she smiled sheepishly.

“What was your name again?”

“Nar—il. Neril.” She cursed inwardly.

“Well, Neril,” he said, relaxing a bit, “have you registered? Or gotten a permit, for that matter?” He gestured to her sack.

“I was just on my way to make a request, actually. I would have done so last night, but I got so distracted. Abelas pointed me in the right direction this morning.”

“Right. Abelas.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “Listen, if you’re not already ‘with him,’ like you said, maybe you’ll hear a warning?”

Nara frowned and nodded.

“Stay away from his lot. They bring nothing but trouble wherever they go.”

“You mean the…” she gestured at the sky and looked around. She wasn’t even sure how people were referring to the Veil being torn. Thankfully, he seemed to catch her drift.

“Not just that,” he rolled his eyes. “They’re still out there causing problems. I know your—I mean, elves seem to have a liking for them, but what they’re doing just isn’t right. They’re plundering supplies that are sent to us from the Inquisition and attacking camps of refugees. A few months ago, they attacked a camp just outside of Kirkwall. They burned their supplies—didn’t even want them for themselves. Anyone who wasn’t an elf was abandoned. Mind you, these are people who used to be city folk. They don’t know anything about how to survive in this wasteland…” he trailed off for a moment, with a faraway look in his eyes. “Only a few of them made it back. All I’m saying is, be careful who you throw your lot in with. I know we haven’t always been kind to the elves in this town, but we all need to stick together now more than ever.”

Nara looked at him with a mingled face of horror and skepticism. Did he really think the elves who remained in this city would want to “work together” with the humans who had killed their friends and families?

“Thank you,” she finally managed through gritted teeth, “for the advice. I’ll be sure to be more wary.” She attempted a smile and made to leave, but the innkeeper grabbed her wrist.

“Wait,” he commanded a bit too loudly. His eyes widened and he hastily relinquished his grasp as a few heads turned their way.

“Sorry, it’s just…” he frowned. “If you go to the office of the Duke, you’ll undoubtedly be denied. There’s another option.” His voice was barely a whisper. Nara leaned forward.

“Go past the entrance to the old alienage and turn left. There’s an old building acting as some sort of health center. Ask for Mena.” Eyeing the bow strapped to her back, he added, “They’re not in much of a position to be turning away services.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I love the idea of Nara slowly experiencing the weirdness and newness of the Fade being restored slowly as she regains her strength and awareness. I wanted to write a fic where Solas was successful because I SO badly want to see how differently the world will behave when the Veil is removed. I can't help but think he did it partially for Nara, to give her a glimpse of the life he wishes he could have given her, if things were different... Siiiigh.


End file.
